


This Poisoned Blood of Ours

by LysSerris



Series: This Poisoned Blood of Ours [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bellamione Cult Discord Game, Bellamione Cult Ilvermorny Cup, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Creature Fic, Creature Hermione Granger, Discord: Bellamione Cult, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Hermione's in for a wild ride, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Sane Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Tags May Change, Vampire Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Vampire Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysSerris/pseuds/LysSerris
Summary: The Black family hides more than just a darkness in their souls.Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio, is unexpectedly swept into the madness swirling around them and is forced to make due with her new lot in un-life.





	1. Freedom Never Tasted So Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellatrix Lestrange, mad witch, right hand to Voldemort, and so much more. When a jailbreak sends her off into the world, her path intersects with someone she'd least expected.

Bellatrix Lestrange née Black wasn’t a stranger to the overwhelming sensations that defined true hunger. Ever since she’d been born it had existed as an ever present sensation; from the early years of her youth all the way through to the years she’d spent stranded inside this hell called Azkaban. 

When she was still just a young girl the sensation had been one of being starved of attention. She’d been the eldest of three siblings and ever since her youngest sister had been born she’d been unfairly subjected to the lofty expectations of her parents, all while they showed her none of the support that a growing child needed.

As she grew into her teens the sensation had begun to twist and morph into a ravenous hunger for ideas and information. For power and control over her fragile position in life. Her early marriage to the abomination that was Rudolphus had deepened that pit considerably. 

And now, fifteen years after arriving in this roughly carved hell, it had crystallized. 

She knew the unalienable truth of hunger. Hunger was the endless pit that rose up like a chasm in place of her stomach. Hunger was the pain of watching as even a single drop of precious blood was wasted. Hunger was salivating uncontrollably while she watched out through the bars of her cells whenever the Warden and his cronies beat another prisoner into a bloody pulp. Hunger was finally succumbing to the temptation to feed off of animals. Hunger was every rule, every restraint, that had been beaten into her suddenly breaking in an attempt to satiate itself.

Her dearly departed twat of a Father had pounded that last lesson into her with a ruthless efficiency that would have better served military members than small children. 

_ “Do NOT feed from animals,” _ he’d cried out from his ivory tower of plenty. Animals were  _ beneath _ them. Lower than humans, the same level as Mudbloods.

She’d given up on that tenant of her education after nearly three years of constant withering and endless nights that stretched into uncomfortable days of thirst. Willpower was something you bragged about until you were tested, and Bellatrix had been tested far more than most. 

With time it had become commonplace for Bellatrix to find herself chest to the ground with an arm smashed into a tiny crack in the wall while she tried to lure in rodents using the gray paste they attempted to feed the prisoners. The gray mash wasn’t useful for much other than bait and it served her far better than throwing it back in her jailors faces. At the very least her new method of using her food had reduced the hours she’d been spending in solitary, so if she had nothing else she at least had that.

And rats.  _ “Many much rats,”  _ she giggled merrily to herself.

Most of her waking hours were spent with a hand shoved out and a frayed hope in her head that she’d get a bite on her finger. When it happened, which wasn’t are rare as it could have been but wasn’t nearly as often as she’d have liked, she’d pull her arm back out with a surprising amount of speed and yank the little fuckers into the room with her. All it took was one swift crack to their back, and she had lunch. Or dinner. She wasn’t picky.

The little creatures would enter into a death stretch while she busied herself with smashing her half descended fangs into their soft little bellies, biting and tearing and gnashing to get at the little morsels held within. It was never truly enough to satiate her hunger, but it was enough to take the worst of the edge off. Enough to put the thoughts of suicide to rest for another night.

In the end even that course of action was denied to her no matter how much she sometimes wished for it. Her cell was hidden behind charmed windows that blocked the special component of sunlight that would burn her while a thin granite roof kept her safely in the dark. So instead she hunted. Or waited, near motionless, in an effort to meditate on the loss of her Lord.

Throughout her tenure in the most inhumane prison on the planet she’d gotten disquietingly used to meditation. When that wasn’t enough she’d settled on staring outside of her cell and fantasizing about her Lord’s return. Praying for it, really. For His elemental force to be reintroduced to the waking world so that He may strike it down in retribution. For Him to tear apart the peons and their supposed order before throwing the trash into the gutter where it belonged. It was one of the last activities she had access to that could bring a true smile to her face. The other was forbidden in polite company, and she was nothing if not a Lady.

So yes. With all that said, Bellatrix Lestrange was quite sure that she was the foremost expert on hunger that the world could currently supply.

But even with all the torment surrounding her she was still able to appreciate the little things. 

For one, she was one of the luckier residents of Hotel Azkaban. Every day and night she could hear the wailing and agonized screaming of other prisoners as it rattled down the hallways. Their voices cracked and broke into moans as they gave up the ghost and succumbed to the mind-numbing sensation of a Dementor’s hunger. Or at least she assumed that it was mind-numbing. She’d actually never once experienced any sensation in their presence other than the somewhat cold chill that accompanied any gathering of Dark aligned creatures. 

She wasn’t quite sure why they lacked any noticeable effect on her and to be quite honest she didn’t care. Her sanity was still disintegrating underneath these storm filled skies while she remained locked up tight in an eight by four box. Regardless of whether the Dementor’s managed to feed off of her or not, she was losing it. The loss of conversation and consistent lack of fresh blood was ripping apart the fabric of her mind as assuredly as the soul sucking demons that floated about the hallways.

Day after day passed by until the everlasting monotony became one big pastel smear. 

Wake up.

Hunt.

Laugh at poor Rabastan, sitting in the cell across from her while he screamed his lungs out when the Warden came knocking.

Laugh some more.

Repeat.

\---

In the span of a single breath her whole world changed. Even as it occurred she wasn’t sure that it was real. That it wasn’t just a hallucination concocted by her feverish mind.

One minute she was sucking at the last drops of rat blood that still lay atop the cracked stone beneath her feet and the next she was being hauled up into a pair of overly thin arms while a dirty and scraggly beard tore at her cheeks. It was highly unusual for the Warden and his goons to take a hands on approach with full-blooded Vampire and for a second she’d remained still and limp as she was carried past the threshold of her cell.

If whoever was dragging her had paid even the least bit of attention to her mind state before hauling her away from her meal then the bloodshed that followed could have easily been avoided. Unfortunately for them, and fortunately for her, they hadn’t.

She was hungry. Starving. Half-mad and malnourished to the point that her fangs would no longer properly descend. But she wasn’t helpless. She wasn’t a simple  _ witch,  _ lost without a wand.

_ “This bitch has claws,”  _ she thought to herself as the person wrapping themselves around her body began to squeezing tightly as they brought her towards the Warden’s Quarters. And even fifteen years languishing in this hole hadn’t been enough for her to forget how to use them. 

One swipe up, and there were no more eyes. Another, and his head rolled gently off his shoulders to bounce back and forth as it swung from a thin piece of gristle and bone that kept it connected to the broken spinal column.

It wasn’t  _ her _ fault that she’d reacted the way she did. It was instinct, nothing more and nothing less. And the sweet hum that burbled up her throat as blood rained down onto her wide-eyed face was more than enough to make up for the lingering feelings of shame towards the mess that she’d created.

And just like that, she was Bellatrix Lestrange no longer.

\---

Hermione Granger’s week had been complete and utter shite, through and through.

Wind rose up and out across the expanse of land as she trekked, air buffeting harshly against her as it threw the tumble of curly, auburn hair into a whirlwind around her face. She struggled to see past the failing light and veil of hair as she marched herself back towards her Grandfather’s home. 

Alfred Granger had built up this tract of land from a ramshackle building and fetid marsh into an enviable homestead that related far more to its cousins across the pond than the bungalows and government approved housing styles that seemed to be so prevalent after the second World War. Wet and soggy for generations, the land had given over to nourished dirt and fertile land that boded well for a small farm and easy living. Her father had told her of his afternoons spent down at the creek when he was a child, book in his hand and birds chirping in his ear. It had been beautiful here, once upon a time.

Hermione could only wish that the state her father had left the farm in had been the same when she trudged out of the home and into its vast wilderness.

All around her were fields lying fallow and dead trees clustered into groups of fallen timber. A dry river bed filled with detritus and the remains of teenagers parties now filled the land that had once held a thriving creek. Beer cans, trash, sticks and stones and whatever else they could haul down there late at night. That was all that was left of a once promising feature of nature.

All the farming equipment had been hauled out of the elements and left to rust inside a disused barn, and no one had come here for fruits or vegetables in many years. It seemed the land had been tied so strongly to her grandfather that once his mind had begun to fade away the land surrounding him had decided that it was time to move on as well.

It was only right that he fell asleep one final time in his own bed, his own home. Surrounded by family and memories of sweeter times.

Her entire living family had made the arduous trek up north to visit, packing themselves up into a too tiny sedan and setting the radio to whatever floated in. Her father, crying whenever he thought no one was looking. And now, two days later, her grandfather had finally given up his fight while the family whispered sweet words in his ears. 

Hermione could only hope that she’d one day die the same. Surrounded by family and loved ones, respect pouring forth both ways she strode off to pass through the final veil. But with the War that loomed so high above their heads, well. She wasn’t particularly sure that she’d get her wish. Dumbledore had continued to hint at the coming battles even as she packed her bags and hugged Harry and Ronald goodbye, tears caught in the edges of her eyes as they bade her farewell and safe travels. 

No, it was far more likely that she’d only end up one or two ways. Either she’d survive the oncoming strife and suffer hell for it, likely marked by whatever horror she would endure, or she’d be dead. Squashed flat underneath the heel of Voldemort’s regime. Either prospect was intensely frightening to the young witch. She couldn’t help the muttered ream of prayers that spilled forth at night that wished for simpler times, times when worrying about schoolwork and friends had been the only thing on her mind. Times when growing up had felt so far away.

When her grandfather had finally given in to his disease she’d quietly backed away, uncomfortable with watching his breath come to a stalemate. As she backed up she’d let her father pass by her so he could fall down to his knees to cry his heart out. She’d only seen him this broken once before, many years ago when she was a child, and even then her experience had been softened by naivete. Seeing it now was heart-rending.

And so she’d fled. Down the hall and through the kitchen to come barreling out the front door while tears spilled messily against the floor. She’d let her feet carry her far across dead grass and muddy pits while remaining heedless of her direction, more worried about what her family must think of her for running than she was about becoming lost. Or being found.

It had been a terrible idea in retrospect. But, alas, hindsight made everything twenty-twenty. 

Her aimless travel had led her far afield until she reached the barbed wire fence that made up the back marker for his property line. After minutes of staring off into the setting sun she’d screwed up what courage she had and turned about to march herself home. She’d almost gotten there too.

Crickets and small animals that lived beneath the underbrush had been a constant companion as she’d wandered across the property. All the noise they made was low enough to filter into the background radiation of the world while she marched herself off to oblivion. This distinct lack of notice was part of why it came as such a shock to her when she finally realized she couldn’t hear it anymore. That she couldn’t hear  _ anything,  _ anymore. At first, she had feared it was something to do with her hearing, either a buggered up prank set off by Fred and George or a more muggle issue. Repeated snaps against the shell of her ears had dashed that middling hope to leave only the worst option as the remainder. 

_ “Magic,” _ she belatedly thought to herself as her wand pulled up and out from her back pocket.

Pulled out, but not by her.

She let out a scream when she realized what had just happened, the noise deadening when it reached whatever charm had been set all around her. Her body turned automatically only for her to scream again when she caught sight of the woman suddenly standing so close before her.

The woman’s head was bent forward and her shoulders shook back and forth while she remained rooted in place. At the periphery of her hearing she could sense a slowly building noise that scratched painfully against the artificial silence. At first, she’d been unable to discern what she was hearing and confusion had colored her face. Eventually, however, it continued and built until she could realize what it was.

_ Laughter. _

Pure, heartfelt, undeniable cackling.

The sound was madness incarnate and it immediately sent Hermione’s heartbeat into a staccato rhythm that nearly vibrated its way out of her chest.

“Oh Pet, you’ve no idea how well that sounds to ears such as mine,” a raspy and hollow voice belonging to the woman spoke up.

One minute the woman was still standing across from her with her head still bent and Hermione still unable to look directly at her.

The next, they were chest to chest and eye to eye.

The woman wore a raggedy assemblage that was colored bright as prison garb but far too worn down to be labeled as anything other than rags. It clung to her chest and shoulders in a way that made Hermione wince at the thinness, bones visible even beneath the billowing garment. Her hair was a wild mass of unkempt patches and twisted up curls. Ringlets of hair as black as night curved off into flat matted pads that looked crusted over with red while a single patch of gray hung down to twist all around itself. 

The eyes were the most striking aspect however. Dark and saucer shaped, Hermione could almost see herself in the pale reflection coming from the moon overhead. There was no sclera, just the endless expanse of pupil that stretched away to some unknown end. She was convinced At that moment that if she held still long enough she’d fall into those eyes and never find her way back out.

The woman leaned herself forward into Hermione’s shivering form, breast pressing to breast as she dipped her head down to inhale against the hollow curve of Hermione’s neck.

Ever since she was little Hermione had always known that she wasn't the bravest of the Golden Trio. That title belonged to Harry, their ever fearless leader. Even as they’d fought off all manner of ill beast throughout her school years she had known that a large portion of the action had only occurred because she’d had her friends by her side. Still though, she had thought herself stronger than this. 

Her body suddenly latched onto the disquieting urge to lock itself still when she felt the woman’s lips graze gently against the curve of her throat, klaxons going off in her mind that warned of this woman, this thing, this  _ predator. _ A wide, warm tongue darted out to lap gently against the racing pulse contained beneath her skin. The urge to run was overwhelming but still all she could manage to do was stand still and remain quiet. 

“Yes, yes, you’ll do fine Pet, yes,” she husked out in richly deep tones, “Yes,  _ you _ get the Honor!” 

The woman began squealing in a tone of foreign amusement against Hermione’s chilled skin, warm breath buffeting against her neck and sending out ice to cascade in ripples down her spine. A calloused hand reached around Hermione’s back to pull her closer against this monster while the other wrapped around until she held the back of Hermione’s neck firmly in her hand. It would have been a gentle pose, sweet even, if it had come from anyone other than this animal wearing an emaciated woman’s frame.

Hermione Granger’s life came to a close after that.

The witch shot forward with frightening speed and accuracy to crash her teeth down upon the skin covering Hermione’s pulse. Blistering pain shot into her awareness as teeth dug down through flesh and tendon to open her insides to the world. One minute she was being held and bitten into, the next the woman was pouring her life away like so much water out of a leaking jug. 

Her body raced toward weakness while a darkness began to crowd against her vision, warm ichor continuing to drip and spill off the curve of her shoulders and down her front and back. The pretty black top that she’d chosen for the occasion of death was slowly but steadily absorbing all the spillage. Bright blood mixed with cotton until she was naught but a shining mess in the silvery glow of moonlight.

She was alive.

She was dead.

…

And then she was alive again.


	2. Toothache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is sick.  
> Bellatrix is confused.

**_After_ **

Hermione clawed her way up from a slumber far deeper than any she could remember. Her neck was stiff with pain and tension as she twitched and stretched herself out along the uneven ground. Even her skin seemed set on fighting her feeble attempts at movement, itching and flush as though someone had pulled her taut. A trembling hand rose up to press against the base of her skull, prodding and kneading the sensitive patch of muscle and skin. When someone scratched along the back of her hand she nearly jumped out of her skin right then and there.

The young witch lunged forward with a grace and speed she wasn’t aware that she’d possessed, landing flat-footed and bouncing up to wobble unsteadily on two feet. When the slight vertigo that accompanied the movement finally subsided she spun herself around a tight circle while her head remained locked painfully in place.

_ “Yep,” _ she thought wryly,  _ “Definitely a crick.” _

Her eyes filled in the expanses where her neck wouldn’t turn until she had a full accounting of the dead fields that surrounded her Grandfather’s home. The night sky above was still inky black as pale clouds blew by overhead to shroud patches in even further darkness. She couldn’t tell how long she’d been lying on the ground but the home looked just the same as when she’d left it. Lights still burned brightly in the second floor and her parent’s tiny sedan was still parked along the side, facing the same direction as before. 

Her heartbeat settled into a normal rhythm while she remained in place and attempted to recall whatever nonsense had driven her to take a nap in the dirt. Her first recollection was of her Grandfather finally passing, then her flight from the room and out into the wilderness in an attempt to find something to breathe other than stale air. Beyond that, nothing. No matter how hard she tried she just couldn’t recall a single thing that had happened after she set foot outside.

Vestiges of memory stirred and knocked about the back of her mind in a tumbled mess that felt impossible to reconnect. When she focused she could get the barest hint of something, something like black pools that had felt deeper than the ocean. In the end though the vagueness of the feeling wasn’t enough to shed any light on her situation.

She checked over herself with as much care as she could to ensure she hadn’t been harmed in any manner, finding her wand still safely tucked into her pocket and clothes as clean as when she’d first put them on that morning. It was like she’d been scoured and cleaned while laying still on the ground, avoiding the dirt and detritus that would have accompanied a dirt nap.

Worried, but not quite enough to dwell any further on it, she headed back up towards the home with her head held straight and her heart falling down to her stomach in protest.

\---

**_Before_ **

Bellatrix was ecstatic. Fantastic even. Floating over the moon and clouds with joy and a buzz that filled and rippled all throughout her body. Her Lord, her Savior, had returned from His extended exile. He was  _ here. _

The first wave to attack Azkaban had been those members of the Circle who’d remained out of custody, either those who’d claimed an Imperius or those who’d never let themselves be caught to begin with. When they’d struck, they’d done it quick and hard. They showed no mercy and no intent to take the staff as prisoners. Within the span of an hour the haunted grounds had been stripped of its inhabitants and their shackles snapped. 

Azkaban was no more.

It now only existed as a wet and broken ruin that was torn down off of the weathered stone pedestal where it had sat, unassailable, for centuries. Bellatrix couldn’t have been happier. The only thing that impinged upon her continued joy were the early pangs of hunger that had begun gnawing their way up the back of her throat. The accidental death of Rodolphus hadn’t been nearly enough for her to slake her thirst and now she stood within a herd of cattle. Her body practically vibrated with the intensity of her need.

Her Lord was addressing the mass of prisoners, standing atop a boulder and favoring each individual with a look, but Bellatrix could hardly hear a word being said. He was talking so  _ quietly _ and so softly that it was drowned out underneath the pounding storm that raged against her ears. The crashing and thundering of veins and arteries and muscle overpowered all else until nothing could be heard at all.

The only other Vampire that had the luck of being entombed within Azkaban looked to be in much the same struggle as she was. He was a scraggly man, named Scabby or Scour or some other ridiculous nonsense. His beady eyes were sweeping out across the herd while his head whipped back and forth to slap stringy and grimy hair against his cheek and neck. When she caught his eyes she knew what he was seeing and swallowed dryly against the pains in her stomach.

Bile rose up against the back of her throat when she realized she wasn’t paying attention to her Lord, wasn’t giving Him the reverence He so deserved. Even as she understood her sin she admitted that it didn’t matter. Blood, the sound and taste and feel of it, was all that mattered.

Eventually though the speech came to a natural close and those without the strength to do so were whisked back to the mainland by the group that had broken them out. The harsh popping sound of Disapparition invaded the desolate atmosphere swirling around them while waves continued to crash against the rock they occupied. She was filled with a horrible pang of loss as she watched the potential meals disappear from all around her.

Her Lord, flanked on one side by the grimy body of Wormtail and the gentlemanly visage of her brother-in-law on the other, approached the two starving Vampires that had remained at the back of the group. Bellatrix had remained back on principle, not trusting herself to remain calm or collected enough to not tear into the nearest living body. She knew her bloodlust and held no desire to set it forth, not yet at least. Scabby though? He seemed to be too stunned to do anything else.

As He walked forward she focused in on His face, so different from the last time she’d seen Him and still so wholly the same. Pale skin that cracked and patterned with translucent scales wrapped tight around His skull. Twin vertical slits that enlarged and separated as He breathed stood in place of the aristocratic nose that He’d once used to look down on His subjects. Red eyes sat firmly back into his face, so much stronger and more intense than the bloodshot eyes that she remembered. They pierced her with their intensity and she delighted in the fervor and darkness held within them.

Pain lanced through her head as He began peeking into her guarded mind, scraggly fingers with chipped nails digging into her in an effort to see within. She opened herself and dropped to the ground at the same time, knees biting into rock and forehead scraping the ground when He finally stood before her. Her supplication was never something that He’d asked of her but was rather her own tribute to Him that had begun the night He had saved her. 

The barrier across her mind fell away as He filtered Himself in through her, filling every nook and cranny while He viewed and dissected her memories and the long descent towards a hunger fueled madness. He viewed every moment of doubt and worry that had filled her head as the years passed, rushing through long stretches of time when she’d done nothing but sleep and exist in the barest sense of the word.

When the inspection concluded she was startled from her prostration by a cold hand on her shoulder and a noise that carried with it the hiss of a viper.

_ “Rise.” _

\---

**_After_ **

Only a few hours remained of Hermione’s impromptu and unwanted vacation. She knew that it was more than enough time, that she could stretch it out into infinity if she let herself remain swaddled in blankets and sadness for any longer.

Beyond the emotional toll that her Grandfather’s death had enacted on her and the resultant sting of attending the funeral so soon after, she was suffering more from what seemed to be the beginning of a heavy cold. Her neck still ached and her mind felt lightheaded and cottony whenever she moved to stand or stretch. Her mother swore up and down that she wasn’t running a fever (she swore that she was running cold more than anything, a statement that Hermione had harrumphed at and put down to her mother’s propensity to downplay everything) even as her body wracked itself with shivers and sweat that changed to a bone deep cold whenever she left the confines of her bed. 

The latest addition to her menagerie of pain was a sudden sensitivity to light. She’d strapped the blinds shut in a fit and wrapped an old bandanna around her eyes in a bid to cut out the troublesome rays that leaked past the edges of her window. The pain had gotten so bad that even the littlest bit of light seemed to cause her eyes to burn and squint. 

Her jaw had also begun to hurt that morning, starting with tingles and random spikes of pain that shot through her top row of teeth at irregular intervals. It felt like the beginnings of a cavity, and she could only hope and pray that that wasn’t the case. Ever since she’d been young her teeth had always been a sore point for her parents. Dentists as they were, they had her brushing and flossing as soon as she could hold either item steady. Each holiday was a race to see how quickly she could scarf down candy and sweets before her parents got a hold of them. And in all that time, from her first baby tooth to the age of eleven, she’d had five teeth filled in. With each one her parents had looked between themselves and wondered how the daughter of two prominent dentists could have such horrid teeth.

Hermione’s bets were placed on her genetics and ever since she’d begun attending Hogwarts she’d visited Madam Pomfrey at the start of term so as to down four or five potions that were meant to help control it. It worked like a charm, or so it seemed, until her current predicament.

A growl rumbled up from the back of her throat when she thought of her many aches and pains, all things that Magic could fix almost instantaneously. With her so deep in the Muggle world and surrounded by everyone but witches and wizards, she’d need to resort to toughing it out through more Muggle means. 

The abhorrent treatment of Muggleborns still managed to incense her after nearly five years of straddling the two worlds. Sure, most wizards and witches were kind enough not to call her a slur within earshot but the majority still looked down on those like her as if they were personally aggrieved by their birth. The fact that the Ministry itself was still stifling them was just the cherry on top.

Instead of just casting a spell or downing a potion she was reduced instead to popping ibuprofen like candies and swigging from bottles of bitter tasting cold medicine. Someone like Ronald or Malfoy simply had to snap their fingers and all their ills would be addressed. Some days more than others she resented the orange haired lump of a manchild, and no days did she resent him more than when she was stuck at home in Muggle England while her wand lay uselessly tucked away. 

Had he ever gone a single day in his life without Magic? No. He’d been swaddled within it since his birth and had grown up to take it all for granted. And here she was, desperate to learn and use her knowledge in a meaningful way and instead forbidden from doing any of it because there were no adults practicing around her. Simply put, it was infuriating that she couldn’t do even the simplest of spells to heal her sickened body. 

She remained pouting in her bed while her mood continued to sour until she felt a particularly painful stab in her gum line that made her yowl and hiss in pain. It felt so much like something drilling against the root of her teeth that it finally had her up and out of her covers to pad off in search of her father.

“Dad!” Her voice carried out through the somber house before she could stop herself. Here she was, screaming for attention, while he was attempting to deal with the loss of his Father. She couldn’t have stopped the flush of embarrassment that warmed her skin if she’d even tried.

“Yes Pumpkin?” His answering voice floated up the staircase down the hall. Declining to answer she padded on bare feet towards the study that he was likely holed up in, a single blanket still wrapped securely around her shoulders.

“What’s up dear?” He asked as she walked into the room and headed towards where he was sitting on a loveseat.

“Toothache,” she replied in a numb tone while sitting down across from him and drawing up her legs.

“Well, it’s certainly been awhile since you’ve had one. Guess it was about time. Where is it?”

“Upper left and right, number three.”

\---

**_After_ **

Bellatrix woke almost an hour after sundown, her mind startled and breathing heavy as she fought through a confusion that she couldn’t shake. The unfamiliar room was crowding and pressing down on her as she backed her body up against the headboard to scan the empty space for Aurors or her jailors. A growl burst up the back of her throat and nails dug into the soft fabric of the duvet.

When nothing and no one came out from behind the shadows that draped the room she calmed her breathing and began to relax her grip.

_ “Home,” _ she thought, but that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t Black Manor, the interior was far too cream colored for the darkness that had taken roost in her childhood home. It wasn’t Lestrange Manor either, there was a distinct lack of broken furniture or dead elves.

_ “Cissa’s home,” _ she thought with a smile as memories over fourteen years old finally came flooding back. Focusing on where she was brought a measure of comfort that eventually lent her enough strength to slip quietly from beneath the covers and head off towards what she assumed was the bathroom. A shaky hand swiped against the wall in the dark space until her fingers brushed over the embedded stone circle that brought little sconces of fire to life.

She could hardly believe it. Fifteen years of never being able to hear anything other than the sea and frenzied madness from her fellow guests had dulled her ears to anything else. The silence all around her was as oppressive as it was liberating. She wandered forward slowly until she caught the slight flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. In a flash she was pressed up against a wall with her hands out in front of herself to guard off whoever the interloper was.

It took her a moment, a slow and painfully agonizing moment, to realize that the creature standing before her  _ was _ her.

An emaciated looking skull with eyes as black as pitch stared back at her beneath a veil of tangled and knotted curls that frizzed and weaved into a horrifying pattern. Her cheeks were hollow to the point of letting the shape of her teeth be visible against the flesh and even though some amount of color had returned to her she still looked far older than she truly was.

_ “Feeding should have fixed this,”  _ she thought with an inward groan before running over that thought again.  _ “Feeding? When did I feed?” _

Her mind was blank. She couldn't recall how she’d arrived to Cissa’s home and she couldn’t recall what she’d been doing before arriving. Her memories were a blur of shapes and sounds after her Lord bid her to rise up off the uneven rock formations that had once been Azkaban. 

She knew instinctively that she  _ had _ fed. Even if the rightness of the thought didn’t convince her of that fact then the blood coating her prison garb certainly did the trick.

A gentle knocking at the door to the bedroom broke her from her mental rewind. When she didn’t come to open it fast enough the knocking persisted, louder and louder. Bellatrix ambled from out of the bedroom and, not trusting her voice to work, silently opened the door and peered into the hall.

“... Cissa?” Her voice was as bad as she’d feared. Scraggly. Burnt. It scratched against her throat and tumbled past her lips in a near whisper. Any other words she’d planned on speaking died out while she stared at the older version of the young woman she’d left behind.

Narcissa was far taller than she’d remembered. Either the witch had gone through a growth spurt after she’d been arrested or she was wearing heels underneath her ridiculous floor length dress. Her hair was now two-toned, streaked along one side with black that faded into the gentle blonde that she remembered. It was styled elegantly but not too pompous, a perfect recreation of their Mother’s favorite style.

Her eyes were still the same. A piercing blue that struck right to the center of Bellatrix’s heart until without even a thought passing through her mind she found herself lunging forward, eyes protesting at the years of disuse as she began sobbing heavily into the blond curls of the girl she’d once known.

“There, there Bella,” soft tones flowed down and into her ears, “You’re alright. You’re free.”

Her sister pulled away and held her at an arm's length before whipping out her wand and silently casting a Scourgify at her Bellatrix’s still sobbing form.

Stinging nettle and abrasive wind scratched relentlessly against Bellatrix’s body as she stood there, stock still and mouth open at the impudence of her younger sister. The damned magical cleaning invaded even that orifice eventually, causing her to choke and gag as her fangs lowered against her will to be stripped clean of grime and decay. The sharp weapons had healed since her last blood meal, sharp and bone white as they pulled out to hang lower in her mouth.

“Bloody hell Cissa, what kind of greeting is that?!” She stood there shocked at her sister’s action, staring at her with an abused expression and arms jutting out to the side in confusion.

Her sister stared back at her with a smile on her face and dutifully shot a few more cleaning spells until she was certain she wouldn’t contract tetanus from brushing against a sharp limb. 

“Come now. We’ve already had a reintroduction, stop being a baby. I warned you that I’d clean you myself if you didn’t wash up.”

“No you damn well didn’t you blonde harpy, this is the first time I’ve set eyes on you in years and you send me straight through the nettle! You’d think I’d be the crazy one after all that time, not you!”

Her sister’s face quirked at that, one side of her lips dropping down to show a gleaming fang as she stepped backwards and eyed Bellatrix with her steely blue gaze.

“Do you not remember? You were dropped off two days ago. You’ve been here ever since.”

Bellatrix startled and froze when that statement hit home. It certainly explained why she still felt so low after feeding. Two,  _ “One?”, _ paltry meal after more than a decade wasn’t anywhere near enough to heal the multitude of issues that rotting away in Azkaban had created. And if she’d truly been resting for two days then it was no wonder why she still felt so ravenous.

“No…. I don’t remember anything,” she admitted in a soft voice. A spot in the back of her mind was working away tirelessly as she stood there in silence.

_ “Am I forgetting anything else?” _

\--

**_Later_ **

Minerva McGonagall, dressed down in an appropriately styled pantsuit to dissuade any Muggles from noticing the witch that walked among them, rang the doorbell to the Granger household promptly at quarter past four. Hermione shuffled her way from the kitchen to peer out through the blinds before opening the door and admitting her entrance. Her wand was held stiff in her free hand and pointed discreetly at the door so as to not draw attention to herself. With Voldemort and his lackeys on the loose, one could never be too careful. It was also the least she could do to protect her family. The Ministry had refused her request for wards to be erected around her home, claiming that to do so would only bring unwanted attention.

When she’d read that bit of tripe she’d snorted in derision and crushed the parchment into a tiny paper ball of anger before tossing it off into the fireplace where it belonged. Thousands of proper Wizarding families had wards around their domiciles, but a muggleborn? Not one.

“Good afternoon Ms. Granger.” Her professor flashed a brilliant smile before stepping past the threshold, Hermione stowing the wand into her back pocket before she could see it.

“Welcome Professor.”

The door snapped shut with a click as McGonagall continued on into the living room with her head twisting and turning as she took in the Muggle eccentricities plainly in her view.

“I would ask if you’ve had a pleasant break, but in light of the events for it I’d rather just tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Losing a family member is never an easy thing.”

The lilting accent brought a strained smile to Hermione’s face as she grabbed up her bags and strode to stand next to McGonagall at the base of the couch.

“Thank you, Professor.” Her tone was clipped and short, sickness and lack of sleep eroding her manners. “I’m ready to head back whenever. My parents are sleeping, I said my goodbyes earlier.”

McGonagall nodded, “Well then. Best we not dilly-dally. Come along dear.”

Hermione reached out to lock arms with her professor and the moment she had a good grip the nauseating sensation of Apparition took hold. She was flung back and forth as she flew down and about, yanked and pulled along by an invisible line tethered to her navel. Eventually the feeling ended just as they came to a rollicking halt outside the massive gates that spanned the entrance to Hogwarts.

“Welcome back Hermione. Remember,” she raised her wand to open the gates, “No matter what you’re going through, there’s always an ear for you here. Just come find one of us, and we’ll help you as much as we can.”

Hermione smiled and nodded while her eyes partially squinted shut in the bright light. As they meandered up towards the castle proper her tongue continued its incessant press against her painfully throbbing canines.


	3. Supernumerary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellatrix is learning.  
> Hermione is... Breaking.

Three days had passed since the start of the sickness that had descended upon Hermione and it appeared that it was set on settling in for the long haul. She’d been to see Pomfrey three times since she’d returned and had come away disappointed each time. The Medi-witch had run through a multitude of diagnostic spells that turned up no immediate issues beyond a half of a degree low temperature and lower than average blood pressure for her age group. Neither were of any real concern and were mended simply enough. Her spells failed to pick up any viruses, no bacterium, nothing to explain away the multitude of admittedly mild symptoms. 

Her last visit with the Medi-witch had ended with her being sent away with a handful of pain potions, one for anti-hypothermia to counteract her low temperature, and a pill bottle stuffed full of Muggle variety migraine pills, the cap having been spelled to only open and release at the prescribed time. Pomfrey explained to her that the pills should help with the light sensitivity and nausea that still plagued her, and that she found it easier to simply prescribe low dose pills over catch-all potions. The last thing plaguing her were the constant toothaches that had been worsening at time passed and recently her incisors had decided to join in on the increased sensitivity and throbbing pain. 

The irritability that she’d been falling into had also begun to worsen as time wore on until it coalesced into a flaring temper and pathetically short fuse. Ronald’s inane comments and general lack of attentiveness were slowly driving her up a wall that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to come back from. She found her ire growing and growing with each passing hour that included his presence until she’d finally had enough and exploded. He’d done something small, something she’d generally scoff at and move on from, but this time, as he shoveled back food into black hole at the center of his stomach, she’d erupted.

She’d slammed her plate down onto the countertop with a huff that was closer to a growl, her face burning with heat and rage while he looked on with wide eyes and nary a sign of intelligence on his face. She nearly smashed into the students behind her when she pushed herself back from the seat and fled as fast as she could for anywhere other than there.

She’d ended up in the Library with a book in her hand and a corner all to herself, pages flipping rapidly as she attempted to calm herself. She had made the admittedly poor decision to storm off from dinner without even touching her food and now that action was coming back to haunt her with a growling stomach and an embarrassed flush that painted her cheeks and neck. She’d sat back and tried to ignore the cramps that rolled through her stomach until eventually a wave of dizziness had washed throughout her body and sent her nearly falling out of her seat. She shoved off from her spot, Madam Pince glaring holes in her at the noise, before heading down towards the kitchens.

She made as much haste as was reasonable, her uniform billowing behind her as she speed-walked towards her destination, oblivious to the world surrounding her. That all came to an end when she turned a corner and nearly ran head on into another student. At the last minute her eyes rose up off the floor, and she tilted herself to the side, just managing to miss the blonde haired wanderer.

“Luna,” she panted out as she fought to control her breath, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you walking around!”

The young witch was wearing an assortment of muggle clothes and seemed have had set out without a pair of shoes, her feet clad only in pink fluffy socks. Her jeans, skinny and tight, were a pale shade of orange that lightened towards the hemline and clashed beautifully with an overflowing yellow sweatshirt and little carrot earrings. The odd assortment brought a smile to Hermione’s face even as she fought to control her now rapid breathing.

“Hello Hermione,” the smaller witch greeted her with a dazed smile, “Good to see you.”

She exchanged pleasantries until it seemed enough had been said and her stomach rang out with hunger again, easing out of the conversation by stepping backwards and waving lightly.

“Well then, I’ll be off now. Sorry again about all that, I’ll watch where I’m going a bit more.”

Luna flashed her a quick grin before softly replying, “No worries Hermione, wasn’t a problem at all.”

She’d nodded and returned the smile before turning around and heading off on down the hallway, nearly reaching the end before Luna’s drifting voice spoke up again.

“Oh! Hermione! I’d recommend some spinach and milk! Puts all your ills to mend.”

Hermione turned around as she walked, waving her hand in thanks and smiling confusedly at the ridiculous suggestion before continuing onward toward her destination.

\---

Bellatrix had all of three days,  _ three!, _ with which to bring herself up to speed and get caught up on the current affairs of the Wizarding world. A tall order for anyone, but doubly so for someone recovering from the level of torture she’d been put through. Narcissa was at her side immediately after she’d been given the order by their Lord, helping and hindering in equal measure. Bellatrix wouldn’t turn her away, not after going so long without even seeing her face, but the way that her younger sister fretted over her state was beginning to grate on the last of her nerves. Narcissa, the gods bless her, was trying to make the path to recovery as quick and simple as possible. It was a commendable act and Bellatrix couldn’t thank her enough for doing it but the distance that was forced upon them by her incarceration was far too great for her to recover from all at once.

She felt smothered was what it was, smothered and tired and cranky and  _ hungry. _

Two meals had been brought down to the cellar in the bottom of the Manor, each a random muggle who’d been picked straight up off the streets by her brother-in-law’s lackeys. The presentation of the meals had been to die for, both strung up by their feet from the rafters and set up to slowly drain into expensive crystal basins for her to peck at as she’d seen fit. But it hadn’t been nearly enough for her. The years that she’d spent starving in a cell had ruined any part of her that pandered towards patience and presentation, building instead a creature with no self-restraint. She’d not let them slip peacefully through the veil and opted instead for tearing at their throats with gnashing teeth and greedy tongue, delighting in the warmth that dripped and rained down to stick against her skin and color her pale body in a rosy hue.

It still hadn’t been enough. But alas, there was work to accomplish.

And so she found herself deep within the Malfoy Library with newspapers and history books spread out on the plush carpeting all around her. The newspapers weren’t a mandatory read to bring her up to speed, but they certainly helped more than they hurt. The first few she’d read had been published immediately following the downfall of her Lord. Front page and back-to-back accounts of the War and its end at Godric’s Hollow took up most of the words, with a few reserved to the disarray that His loss had plunged His faithful into. The rest that immediately followed in the days and weeks after its end had been collections of puff pieces for the war ‘heroes’ that had played a part in ending the fighting or ridiculous dissertations that sought to uncover where their baby hero had fled to.

She scanned through each paper as fast as her eyes could handle while sections of a hundred at a time were moved into more organized piles at the periphery of her circle of reading. Her wand moved at a dizzying pace as she cut out or highlighted articles for further research, eyes beginning to burn and sting as she worked throughout the night. 

Her eyes widened and breath caught in her throat when she reached a batch of papers that covered her arrest and incarceration. 

Memories flooded back as she looked through the photographs that were taken the night she was arrested and judged, madness in her eyes and spiteful words on her tongue. She’d been cocky and blood drunk back then, too high off the pain and terror that came with her Mark’s final burn. The singular pain it had caused had felt like she was being called to everywhere and nowhere at once as it burned inside her arm and swirled overtop of her skin. 

She’d pressed her fingers down securely to the Mark and tried to apparate but only succeeded in moving two feet and splinching multiple long gashes up her torso. Her world had broken after that. Inconsolable rage had filled her chest and head as she thought of the Titan that was her Lord, gone from the world with no hope of recovery. It had beggared belief but no matter how many times she tried to go to Him the results had all been the same, no matter how much of her body she sliced up in the attempts. She never arrived at His side.

Any regret she harbored for that time in her life was reduced to the moment that she’d been caught. It had once been His loss that she regretted most, but as time passed that had morphed into the realization that it wasn’t her worst mistake. Her greatest failure had been in allowing herself to be caught and shoved away at the end of the world. Her greatest failure was becoming useless to her Lord and slowly descending into hunger driven madness.

She shook the depressive thoughts away from her mind and pushed the bouncing curls of black away from her vision to stand and stretch. Her joints popped and muscles burned at the exertion while she spun in place and looked over all that she’d reviewed.

A curious thought had been rolling around in the back of her mind as the days continued to pass, a tingling feeling that she was forgetting something of the utmost importance. She just couldn’t get a grasp on what it was.

\---

Hermione was just about at her wits end. Weekdays had passed into the weekend, and yet she was still no closer to getting over her mysterious illness. If anything she was feeling even worse than before. She’d stopped going to see Pomfrey after ending up frazzled and tired beyond measure at the number of potions that the woman was trying to feed her. The last regimen had made her so sick to her stomach that she’d been unable to keep any food down that night. 

Her short fuse and distracted mind were growing more and more uneven by the minute, until eventually she’d lost it. And in the absolute worst place imaginable.

Defense against the Dark Arts.

That particular Friday had started out just about as well as it could. At breakfast, she’d bit down into a sausage and had enough luck to find the one stringy lump of cartilage contained within. She’d bit down directly against her canine, pressing into the hard cartilage with enough harsh forth to send shooting spikes of pain throughout the top of her mouth before she let out an aggrieved scream at the pain. Heads all across the Great Hall swiveled around to focus in on her with laser accuracy and blank stares of astonishment at her unexpected outburst.

When it became clear that she wasn’t going to be screaming again, Malfoy, from across the hall, had begun jeering and laughing before yelling out about how her food was finally fighting back. It hadn’t been a particularly good joke, and not even overly hurtful, but it had still set her on such an edge that she’d shot him a death glare while her magic reacted in kind. She could physically feel it gathering and pressing in all around her as though it was the humidity that came before a thunderstorm instead of a non-corporeal force. It filled every fiber of her being and plunged down her lungs as a heavy and oppressive fluid as her anger built up and up and up. She’d never be able to admit it out loud but it was one of the few moments that she’d wanted to physically wipe the stupid grin off his face. She wanted to see just how much she could make him bleed and grovel for mercy. The strangeness of the anger was what finally broke through the haze clouding around her mind, the heavy layer of magic evaporating almost immediately. When she came to her senses she’d disappeared from the table as soon as able while choking back tears. Her feet carried her off automatically until she ended up in the same bathroom she’d hidden in during her first year, right before the Troll had come knocking. 

When she could keep hold of her emotions she walked up to the mirror to inspect whatever damage had occurred inside of her mouth and hoped it wasn’t anything permanent.

The mirror revealed nothing to be distinctly amiss but when she reached out to grasp the offending tooth with her forefinger and thumb she could swear she felt and saw it jiggle and move. The action frightened her so much that her hands dropped away, and she stepped backwards from her reflection while her heart began ratcheting up at the unexpected development. Her mind spun up and blew through the normal assumptions for why her tooth could be loose and a second inspection revealed that her other canine tooth was exhibiting the same behavior. To make matters worse the incisors next to them were also beginning to throb sensitively whenever she reached up to touch them.

She promised herself then and there to investigate the issue further, but that Friday seemed to have had a mind of its own that prevented her from doing so.

\---

Their D.A.D.A. lesson was supposed to be about learning how to defend themselves against Inferi, but they were now on their thirtieth minute of reading blindly from a textbook and copying the pages onto new parchment. It was a ridiculous and demeaning task that in no way was a substitution for actual hands on classwork. And Hermione couldn’t have been more incensed. Toad supreme wouldn’t let them work on anything else and practical application was a strictly forbidden phrase in her dark kingdom. Hermione had bitten back her tongue and kept her inner monologue to herself when it became clear that the class was going to be more of a joke this year than it had been with Lockhart in charge.

Minutes ticked on as she expected, boring and mind-numbing, as she and the twenty students around her scratched idly against their parchments with shitty quills and expressions of boredom carved into their faces. Hermione was lost to herself as she worked on other problems in the solitude of her mind until she began hearing what sounded like the faintest of thumping against a table or the floor. She’d looked up at the class and swiveled her eyes all around in an effort to figure out who was creating such a distraction. 

It hadn’t been Harry, he was glaring up at the Toad and refusing to even lift his quill. It wasn’t Ronald or Seamus, both of them were asleep with their eyes open, hands moving just barely enough to give the appearance of work. No one else at their bench were making any movements could have been indicative of the sound and the longer she searched the louder it became.

Her movement and clear lack of attention wasn’t able to go unnoticed for long.

Umbridge glared down at her from atop her throne of pink and started up in a shrill voice that could have deafened snakes, “Ms. Granger? Is there a problem?”

Hermione answered in the negative before staring back down at her book and resigning herself to doodling. It didn’t last long though as the sound began to gobble up all of her attention again. It mutated and rose in volume until she could have sworn that at least three people were thumping their hands against something soft. Her eyes left the book again while her neck craned around in befuddlement. Still the sound grew louder and louder until it seemed like she was less Hermione Granger and more a single pair of high specialized ears that were tasked with only hearing the maddening thump. 

Her body jumped up from her seat of its own accord as her mouth opened slightly and chest began to hyperventilate.

_ In out THUMP _

_ THUMP  _

_ In out THUMP _

_ THUMP  _

Over and over, around and around. Again, and again. And again.

Within no time at all she had every pair of eyes in the room on her and Harry pulling sharply against the hem of her sleeve in an attempt to break her free from the stupor. It worked, eventually, but not before she had the entire class murmuring beneath their breath and Umbridge standing before her with cheeks as pink as her fragile china plates. 

Detention, to be served the following Monday. 

It was only the second time in her entire school career that she’d received detention and the fact that it didn’t bother her so much ended up bothering her more than the punishment itself. The whispers that followed her throughout the day were punishment enough, as well as the knowledge that she’d effectively lost total control of herself in the middle of a class. 

She went to sleep that night before anyone else in her dorm could arrive and pulled the curtains that surrounded her bed as tight as she could get them. Her last cast of the day was a silencing charm that had her magic crackling and popping as her wand whipped back and forth. It was the least of her concerns and merely sat in the back of her mind as she tried to drift off to a well-deserved slumber.

Her silencing charms just barely held.

They shouldn't have. But her magic had been raging and pulsing and twisting all about itself so much that what she erected as a barrier was far stronger than anything she normally could have created. 

When two bloody teeth, with roots nearly as long as a Euro coin was wide, came popping out into her hand with a mixture of saliva and flesh, she could do little more than scream at the top of her lungs.

But the spell held.

\---

Monday brought nothing better and instead seemed to only worsen all the disparate emotions rolling around in Hermione’s mind. She’d ended up sequestering herself in her dorm or the library for the entire weekend and sought to only leave the confines of her curtained bed whenever absolutely necessary. Each trip out had necessitated the application of a glamour to hide that she was missing two prominent teeth. By the time Sunday had come to a close it had become abundantly clear that the pair of incisors next to where her canines used to sit were going to be the next to go.

Worse still was the realization that her body seemed to be making up the loss by pushing two  _ new _ teeth into the sockets where her canines used to sit. She was mostly, barely, sure by that point that the cause of her ills was likely a hex or a curse that Malfoy or another sick individual had set upon her. It all made a twisted sort of sense in her mind, and she’d latched onto it without a second thought. She’d been teased relentlessly about her teeth when she was younger and it just made so much sense that someone had decided to strike at her again. 

When she settled upon that explanation as the cause of her distress she also decided to hold her head as high as possible and not give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her hurt from it all. She ignored it as much as she could while searching fruitlessly throughout the library for any information related to her ailment. Nothing had been found by the time she woke up on Monday morning but in fairness she still had over a quarter of the room to search through.

And so, with her tongue poking painfully into the bloody socket where she could feel the tip of new teeth beginning to emerge, she kept up appearances as much as she could for her classes that day. None of her research had yet to settle on a reason for why she’d heard such a pounding noise in her D.A.D.A. class on the past Friday, and she instead chalked it up to a one time hex that had been aimed to cause her trouble. Ronald continued his avoidance of her as though she had the plague and whether it was due to her outburst at the dinner table or her continued bad mood she didn’t care. It was about time she had some form of peace and quiet without needing to be entombed within the Infirmary.

She stuck to eating soups and porridges at all the mealtimes since her oral mishap, opting to play if off as a toothache instead of let anyone in on the actual reason. Harry, observant as ever now that he had no immediate quest to complete or bad guy to thwart, seemed to be the only one who noticed the change in her diet and the guilty grumbles of her stomach even after she inhaled three bowls worth of calories.

Classes during the day passed by in exhaustion while the lingering remnants of the thumping noise batted against her eardrums. It was no longer as overpowering as it had been during her freak out but noticeable all throughout the day.

Eventually she found herself standing before Umbridge’s office with her hand raised up and poised to knock. She gulped down her nerves and gave three stiff knocks to the wood before it opened gradually to admit her entrance. Pink carpeting and porcelain cat plates greeted her in a shade of pink that drowned out every other color. She knew the drill, having wrapped up Harry’s wrist in bandages for weeks had prepared her more than she’d like.

“Ah Ms. Granger, how good it is to see you on time. It’s nice to know that it’s not just the respectable citizens that value proper time management.” She waved Hermione forward with a false smile and directed her towards a tiny desk set up facing Umbridge’s own. On top of the tiny desk was a single blank piece of parchment, crisp and ready to accept her words. 

“Here’s your quill dearie,” she passed over the infamous blood quill with a sadistic gleam in her eye. 

Hermione knew what came next. A nonsensical phrase that the Toad would pick out,  _ “I will not be a distraction to my betters,” _ and at least a few hours of writing it until her skin burned with the torture.

Her frist stroke brought with it a stinging pain that was small enough that she could think nothing of it since it was so light. Her hand moved quickly and the longer she worked the more ti dug into her skin to steal blood and map out her words. With each and every slice Hermione worked herself towards removing herself from the location, retreating inside of her mind until she was able to drown out her own thoughts and feelings to numb the pain. She ended up in some sort of quasi-trance.

The only things that existed to her floating mind was the pain in her hand, slight, the blood, a lot, and the sound,  _ THUMP-THUMP-THUMP, _ of her heart as it pounded away in protest to the cutting. The cutting however…

It wasn’t scarring. It was supposed to scar. Gods knew she’d patched up Harry and Seamus enough times to know the silvery lines of their cursive. But for her… Each cut was like the first. Bleeding profusely before being sucked away. Until it wasn’t.

She could hear Umbridge inhale sharply when it happened, when the slicing of the quill finally broke through something and the skin around her entire body seemed to blaze before cooling into a rapid cold sweat. The last slice was the worst. It went deep, deep enough to show more than just red welling up, and Hermione couldn’t take her eyes off the sight.

\---

Umbridge ended up excusing her after that. Thirty minutes of the tortuous exercise, and the woman had booted her out the door. She was far more worried with her own image than the wellbeing of her student, sending Hermione off to Pomfrey with strict orders to tell the Medi-witch that she’d cut herself on accident. Hermione had snorted at that,  _ “As if, Pomfrey isn’t dense enough to fall for that.” _

She’d had enough of Pomfrey though and started off in the direction of her common-room, intent on holing herself away for another night. But the cut wasn’t healing. It was still bleeding even as she cast an Episkey, running down her hand and soaking into the pink handkerchief that Umbridge had thrown at her before she left the office. 

As she walked Hermione began to notice a distinct smell that seemed to follow her everywhere. Copper. Iron. Something metallic and hot. It settled into her sinuses and refused to leave, leaving her stomach gurgling in a hunger that lingered before growing. She stopped once, after passing Filch by and explaining where she was headed, to stare at the thin lines of blood as they dripped off her wrist and slid down her forearm. 

Her mind drifted off again as she stared at the slow moving liquid. She recognized it as being beautiful in its own way, a color distinct unto itself. It was perplexing.

What was more perplexing, both to herself and McGonagall who strode in to witness it, was the long and slow lick she made, from the base of her forearm to the edge of her wrist, tongue pressed flat and wide to catch every little morsel.


	4. Late Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus is angry.  
> Hermione is scared.   
> Bellatrix is... Clueless

Severus Snape; the Head of the Potions & Alchemy Department, Head of House for Slytherin, Potion Master Second Degree, esteemed author of a series of articles on the side-specific use cases for Ivory Weed and its thirteen derivative oils, was in what could mildly be described as a tiff.

It was nearly 10pm, and he was close to three tumblers deep on a bottle of Scandinavian vodka that had cost him nearly an entire paycheck to obtain, and fifteen Trolls into a stack of his second year’s essays. It was supposed to have been a relaxing night. Madonna was crooning from the record player stuffed between his dressers, grading the essays was going well, and he had a plan to wake early and prepare the Tuesday’s class. 

It was pointedly  _ not _ a day for being called up to the old man’s office to sit in on whether or not a student, and not even his own pupil at that, was turning into a Vampire. A  _ vampire. _

His baritone scoff filled the room while he shook his head and thought back on all the lovely things he could be doing instead of dealing with this nonsense. There hadn’t been a  _ true  _ turning in over a century, and if the Clan was taking applicants than Sanguini was keeping that information shoved so far down that it would never see daylight. 

As he walked the long steps towards the Headmaster’s Office he came to the easy conclusion that it was far more likely that someone had simply been hexed into  _ believing _ that they were a vampire. With the help of a few choice hexes they might end up with longer teeth and pallid skin, likely doing no more damage than running around and scaring people. So yes. Despite the interruption to his nightly routine, he was more than confident that it could be dealt with immediately, and he’d end up back in his quarters within an hour.

He was wrong. Oh so unmercifully wrong.

As he entered the room the tension pouring out between the three occupants wrapped itself around him, heavy and thick amid the sidelong stares that Minerva was shooting over the old man's shoulder. Sitting quietly in a chair facing the desk was a gently shaking form with a head of bushy brown hair that shook back and forth as if she was vehemently denying something.

“Albus, Minerva. I hope that this is worth my time,” he growled out with a clipped tone. The body sitting in the seat leaned forward and began shaking again until she was practically vibrating in her seat. He walked around to the side to get a better look before inhaling sharply and reevaluating just how long he would be here tonight.

Granger only gave him a sliver of a glance while he strode past to stand next to Minerva. Tears were leaking down her face and a pale smudge of red near the corner of her lips stained the otherwise porcelain tone.

“Has she…?” He let the question float among them, now legitimately worried that someone could have been accidentally injured by whatever prank this was.

“No, no, Ms. Granger has just had a bit of a… moment, after receiving a wound. It’s nothing serious, I assure you.” Dumbledore’s rich tones were heavy with false confidence and Severus could only just barely pick out worrying tone that ran beneath it.

“Well then why isn’t Pomfrey here? Or Dolores,” Granger shuddered when he said that name, “If we’re clearing a hex then it would be prudent to have them both along.”

Albus stroked his beard with one hand and fretted over a bowl of hard candies with the other, constantly picking out pieces to roll over his knuckles.

“Dolores will be leaving us posthaste, Filch and Hagrid are already seeing to that. It seems she’s been supervising punishments that go against the school charter.”

“Well then it’s nice to know you recognize me as the best choice for Defense then. But what about Pomfrey?”

Albus shook his head at the same time as Granger dropped her head forward completely until she could only look into her lap. She cradled her hand and ran patterns against the bandage wrapped around it while continuing to keep quiet.

“We have no need for Pomofrey, not yet at least, ahem,” he cleared his throat, “Ms. Granger would you please be so kind as to show Professor Snape your… issue?”

Severus was still looking at Albus when Granger looked up to give them both a pained look. He could swear that when the girl looked away again he could see a glare of animosity cross Albus’s face before it was schooled back to his usual veneer of kindness. He pulled his wand out from his robes and proceeded to cast a few preliminary diagnostic spells as well as a Finite Incantatum in the hope that whatever hex she was under would easily dissolve. The spells did their work, nothing outwardly changing, and after a minute or two the diagnostics came back to reveal more than a few troubling items.

“We should get Pomfrey. Ms. Granger is anemic and iron deficient. She’s also deficient in vitamins B and D,” he screwed up his face in confusion as the spell continued spitting out information. “Your white blood cell count is low as well. And you’ve an overall low blood pressure, and… have a body temperature three degrees low…” As he trailed off he pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, moving faster than she could react, and felt on his own the pallid skin that seemed intent on sucking the warmth from his hand.

“Open your mouth.”

She hesitated just a second before complying, and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. 

He stared, eyes wide in astonishment at the spaces where two teeth were  _ supposed  _ to be. His wand flicked forward again, this time shining a warm blue light against her skin to illuminate the bone structure beneath it.

His inspection left no doubt in his mind. His heart had been pounding away steadily but it nearly froze once he realized exactly what was happening. Her skin was see through, though tinted slightly blue, and he could clearly see the first few millimeters into the bone. Empty sockets lay beneath two sharp looking fangs that were nearly midway into their descent to take up the recently freed space. Beside them and slightly above her two outer incisors were two smaller versions of the same fangs, slowly bearing down on the roots of the teeth still in their way.

Blood drained rapidly from his face when he realized what this meant.

“Merlin’s  _ fucking  _ tits.”

His descent towards vulgarity shocked Minerva enough for her to admonish him with a simple,  _ “Language, Severus,” _ before turning back towards the fledgling seated before them. 

Because that’s what she was now. The first known neonate in over a century, here. In Hogwarts. Surrounded by  _ students! _ It beggared belief, and he counted it as a blessing that she hadn’t managed to attack anyone yet.

“We have to tell Sanguini,” his voice finally found its footing, stuttering along all the way.

Dumbledore shot him a narrow eyed stare, “We will do no such thing. Ms. Granger is unaware of who turned her, but she has admitted to having a blind spot in her memory. It apparently lasted only a few hours, and I’d like you to review it. If we’re lucky we might be able to see who it was.”

Severus stamped down the indignation building in his chest at the pig-headed response. The old goat was playing with fire by not informing the diplomat for the British Vampire Clan. They were the last remaining enclave in Britain, surviving on their own in an isolated existence after the manic hunts during the eighteen hundreds that nearly brought them to extinction. Part of the reparations the Ministry had allowed them was a mandate that any new neonates found in Muggle or Wizarding Britain would be brought forward to the Clan as soon as they were found. It was meant to include them in the small society and help them integrate without causing any bloodshed. If someone didn’t follow that mandate it would be seen as a grave insult, as well as a direct refusal of Ministry guidelines.

Severus didn’t want to be anywhere near a vampire by the time the Clan found out. As immortals, they all had long memories and held grudges that could last multiple lifetimes.

“Why can’t I just show you with a pensive?” Granger’s quiet voice spoke up, the first time she’d done so since he’d arrived.

“Because, you ignorant chit,” he began before he could help himself, “Many mind Magics that would affect a human have no reaction when applied on a vampire.” She winced when he spoke, either at his tone or that word, not that he cared. “And like it or not you  _ are _ a vampire now. You don’t need a Mastery in Magizoology to see all the signs. Honestly girl,” he continued, “You’re supposed to be in the top of your class. How could you have ignored all these signs?”

“I- I thought that someone had just hexed me, playing a mean prank. I’d been picked on before because of my teeth, I just thought it was more of the same.”

Her voice trailed off at the end while she cast her gaze downward to avoid looking at him any further. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and fought hard to keep his temper level-headed. After all, he had assumed it was all a hex gone wrong in the beginning. Her confusion wasn’t that unreasonable.

“Fine. Albus, if Sanguini finds out we kept her from him, then it’s your head I’ll offer up.”

Severus pulled out his wand again to place the tip below Granger’s chin and tilted her slowly until she was looking deeply into his eyes. It took all of a second before he was thrust forward into the kaleidoscope of her broken thoughts.

He skipped past the last few days while turning in a blink of an eye from her emotions to her internal monologue, all packed up and ready for his inspection. Days flew by in pastel smears as he ran her backwards until coming across a dark period that lasted far too long for any span of sleep.

_ “A blackout?”,  _ he mused, both worried and intrigued at the sudden nothingness. Probing around the memory didn’t help as she’d been wandering before and after for long enough to leave both sides near the canvass of black a snapshot of the same night. A thought struck him then and before he could lose the trail he wound himself backwards until he could see through her eyes, noting the position of the stars in the night sky.

Two hours.

Two blank hours that stretched out in her memory as if she’d been asleep for nearly twenty-four. The position of the stars on her waking from the daze were more than enough to confirm the times as accurate. While he knew she was a talented witch he doubted that even she was capable of rewriting an entire memory. There were master Occlumens working for the Ministry who still couldn’t do that. 

He began his work, feeling her watching him through her own eyes, his eyes, as he attempted to repair the block and wipe the memories free. He would have preferred Dumbledore do this work over himself as the old goat was a far more practiced Legillimens than himself. His own skills lay in the avenues of Occlumency and subterfuge, not breaking into someone’s mind while leaving them none the wiser. Alas, Albus was keeping up with his ridiculous security measures, distancing himself from anyone and anything that could be susceptible to Dark influence.

Bit by bit the pieces of the lock were torn down and scraped clean until Severus could see the entire ordeal. From Granger’s walk of shame after leaving her relatives deathbed to the arrival of the mysterious stranger, he’d uncovered everything. In the end it was her voice that clued him into the perpetrators' identity, not the visage. He first tried to reason away that it was an impossibility, that she was hidden away in a cell in Azkaban for all eternity. The papers certainly hadn’t shown anything about an escape and the Prophet would have eagerly lapped up a cluster-fuck as colossal as that. Surely her memories were mistaken. 

Denial weighed heavily around him as he ran through the memories again and again and again until he had no choice but to accept it as reality. Hollowed and emaciated, her voice broken and tired, it was  _ her. _

_ “I cannot tell him this,” _ his disembodied mind echoed around the memory space loudly enough for Granger to pick up on his thoughts before she flooded with confusion in response. He pulled away to the edge of her mind and just before dropping out of it completely he forced a thought deep into her awareness with as much force and sincerity as he could muster,  _ “Do NOT tell him you remember the attack,” _ he felt the girl shiver at the dual combination of her recollection of the attack and his words,  _ “Tell him that you were attacked from behind, if you must, but you must remember nothing. They did not talk. You did not see them.” _

With that said, he pulled away completely until he could feel his wand fall slack in his grip as his body automatically stepped backwards to give them both room.

“Well?” Dumbledore’s expectant tone broke through the silence, “Anything?”

Severus wiped at his brow before locking down the portion of his mind that housed this new information and turning towards the Headmaster.

“Confirmation that she  _ was _ attacked, but no information on whoever perpetrated it. They approached her from behind,” his eyes shifted to her momentarily, “and were gone when she awoke. The blank spot is on account of her death, but that’s all there was.”

Blue eyes as clear as glacial ice pierced into Severus’s face with all the intensity of sunlight before the lids relaxed and an easy smile took over his face.

“Well then. Nothing we can do about that besides soldier on from here.”

“What’s going to happen to me, Headmaster?” Granger spoke up again in a quiet tone of resignation while her eyes flitted between the adults.

“Well for the moment we’ll need to keep you in the infirmary. It’ll only be until we can convene and determine how best to handle your needs. I’m also going to have to ask Madam Promfrey to delay any visitations-”

“Please don’t tell them,” Granger broke in, “If it comes down to it… I- I’d like to be the one to tell Harry and Ron.” Her words finished in a rush without a space for air, her already pale face growing paler still.

“Of course my dear. Now, Minerva, would you be so kind as to escort Ms. Granger off to the infirmary? Let Pomfrey know she’s to be kept overnight, I’ll see to her release in the morning.”

Minerva nodded at his order before gently taking Granger by the hand and leading her out the door. When the heavy wood slammed shut and the sound of the gargoyle shifting had faded into the distance, Severus turned around to stare down his nose at Dumbledore.

“So. What’s the  _ actual _ plan?” His voice was a dull drone, as if the answer couldn’t possibly bother him.

It did.

“Never could get anything past you, could I Severus? Hmm. It’s a hard question. But she cannot fulfill the role she was assigned.” He meandered over behind his desk before sinking heavily into the chair and idly unwrapping a hard candy. “She knows too much. Obliviation would work, if she were human. But now,” he bit down and filled the quiet room with the sound of cracking sugar, “Now that’s off the table. She cannot remain, that much is clear. No parent would stand for having a Vampire, neonate at that, attending school with their children. The risk is too high.”

Severus clenched and unclenched his hand within the confines of his voluminous robe while finishing up the mental calculus that Dumbledore was unfolding and praying that he wasn’t right.

“So send her to the Clan. She can finish her education, and she’ll remain supervised.” He failed to keep a pleading tone from undercutting his voice as he finished talking, earning him a disapproving squint from the Goat.

“That would be the preferable choice. And it would have been mine, if this happened two years ago. But with Voldemort,” Severus winced at the name, “on the rise, well… He’ll court the Clan again and I have no reassurances that Sanguini won’t let the whole lot of them side with him. No, this has to be handled delicately.”

\---

Severus practically flew down from the Headmaster’s Office after the old man finally finished outlining his plan. Long strides powered him forward as he skipped multiple steps and cut corners in his all out dash towards what he assumed might end up being his own doom.

He’d never really like the little muggleborn girl as she’d always been far too uppity and questioning for his tastes. But as the years dragged on he’d had to admit that he found her somewhat enjoyable to teach, if nothing else. If she’d had the chance to continue her education then she could have been a force to be reckoned with. Maybe even one that could have survived to the end of the coming War. As it was, he was now charged, by himself no less, with ensuring she managed to survive the next forty-eight hours.

He barreled in through the door to his quarters before dashing off towards the fireplace and grabbing up a handful of green sand to toss at his feet while he stepped in.

A flash of green light and smoke heralded his arrival in the quiet Manor while soot and ash dropped off onto the floor in heaps that stained the carpet beneath his feet. He turned his head, checking to see whether the room was occupied, before setting off. Three steps forward and a small house elf popped into existence, hurrying itself along as it struggled to keep up with his long strides.

“Master Snape, Madam Malfoy is not expecting-” A well aimed kick towards the elf’s body cut off its inane talking as the creature was knocked back and to the side as he made his way off through the corridor. He could see a light at the end of the hall, the only entrance to a small room that Narcissa seemed to enjoy above all others whenever she spent her nights awake with a bottle of wine and tears spilling down in remembrance of her sisters. Her place within it had become predictable enough over the years that when he finally made it in and saw no one sitting in the fanciful chairs he skidded to a stop and looked about himself in wonder.

“Severus?” A confused tone reached out across the hallway that he’d come in from, and in another bout of speed he turned around on his heels and marched straight out towards it.

“Where is she,” he said, as he rounded the doorway and caught sight of the blonde haired witch. “I know she’s here, so where is she.”

“What do you mean? It’s just me-”

“Cissa,” a new voice from a room further down the hall called out, “Who’s’it?”

He threw the blonde witch a glare before setting off down the hall and stopping before the partially cracked open door. Screwing up the last of his courage he pushed it open with a hand and walked wearily inside.

She stood before him, un-dead and in the flesh, covered with a gown of black satin and her hair pulled down into a curtain of tightly wound curls. All at once it was both the face he wanted to see the most, and the one he wanted to see the least.

His hand moved forward before he could stop himself until it collided with the vampire’s face in a loud  _ CRACK! _ that echoed throughout the room.

Her head turned at the force of the impact, tilted off center almost entirely, before she slowly turned back to face him and stared deep into his eyes while giving him a lilted smile.

“Nice to see you too Snivellus.”

Severus made a note of the lightness in her tone, so different from his last conversation with her, before turning away and peering back out the door frame to a bewildered Narcissa.

\---

Hermione’s night had devolved from bewilderment and fear into a constant state of worry and anxiety that ate its way up and through her chest and head. It felt like she was constantly treading water and was only seconds away from going under forever. Minerva led her forward down the halls with nary a glance back at her until they finally reached the doors to the infirmary. Before opening them she glanced behind herself once as she shot a blank eyed stare that the young Gryffindor could glean nothing from. After that she was led forward and off to a group of beds that had been closed off into a tented room by a wall of white sheets that all hung about.

“Please sit, Ms. Granger. I’ll be back momentarily.”

Her Head of House left her alone in the small curtained off room, blazing out in a speed that Hermione didn’t know she was capable of. She turned in place to inspect her new accommodations, noting the four beds all in a row with a heavy white curtain separating each. 

With nothing to do and no one clamoring to see her, she removed the outer layer of her uniform before dropping the folded cloak onto a table beside the bed and unwinding the tie from around her neck. With each movement she made her eyes continued to follow the gauze bandage wrapped tightly around her wrist all while her stomach continued panging terribly for something that she wasn’t sure she could admit. She’d lost herself during that moment in the hallway and ever since, from being found by McGonagall to being dropped off here, she still hadn’t had the time or the emotional patience to unpack it all. Her mind flitted back to the moment that she’d lost control, her body and mind falling into a haze controlled by her hunger that had lasted until she’d fallen into some depraved form of autopilot.

She couldn’t stop herself from remembering how  _ good _ it had tasted. Her stomach was caught doing somersaults all throughout her torso when she realized that rather than tasting horribly, it,  _ she, _ had tasted sweet and refreshing. 

A harsh cough at the entranceway brought Hermione from her introspection, turning around and seeing the rather tired face of Madam Pomfrey.

“Ms. Granger. Please go ahead and change into these,” Pomfrey handed over a pair of white pants, t-shirt, and slippers, “Then hop into bed. We’ll have you sorted in no time.”

Hermione did as was requested, embarrassed and worried when it became apparent that Pomfrey wasn’t going to turn away or leave the room while she changed. She ended up settling for turning away from the matronly woman and keeping her eyes on the floor while she put on the starkly white garments.

_ “She’s just making sure that nothing happens to me,” _ the rational part of her mind reassured her. It still wasn’t enough to convince herself.

By the time she’d finally finished changing and turned around the old woman was holding out a small glass phial filled with a swirling red liquid. Hermione’s eyes immediately followed its path in Pomfrey’s shaking hand until the witch cleared her throat again, and she managed to tear her gaze away. 

“You’re to take that, then immediately hop in for sleep. It’s been premixed with a sleeping draught, so you shouldn’t have any issues with that. When you’re done, just leave it on the table. I’ll come by later and pick it up.”

Hermione nodded before reaching her hand out to take the phial from Pomfrey, her eyes not missing the way the witch pulled her hand back immediately to avoid having their fingers touch. When Hermione had made her way beneath the covers on the bed she turned around and headed out towards the curtained door. She stopped short, half in and half out, before turning around and throwing Hermione a rather pitiful frown.

“For what it’s worth Ms. Granger, I’m sorry you’re having to go through this.”

With that said, the witch disappeared.

Hermione leaned back in the bed while her eyes locked in on the phial in her hand. Before she could second guess herself she twisted the top off and sloshed the contents back and forth. Warmth radiated through the glass and into Hermione’s rather cold fingers. The rational portion of her mind was arguing that listening to Pomfrey and Dumbledore was the right decision, but she couldn’t help but wonder at Snape’s clear warning. It was all so jumbled and tangled that unweaving what was true from what wasn’t and who wanted to help her from those who didn’t was a task fit for another day. 

A smell slowly wafted up from the uncorked phial, heady and filled with the smell of metal and meat as it coated her lungs. She was falling into that stupor again, the same one she’d been in during her moment in the corridor, and it struck at her with such impatience that when her stomach began clenching in hunger she tipped the phial back and downed it all in one go.

When it was empty she slammed it back down on the desk next to her bed as the sound of glass on wood echoed out and around the small space. Her free hand rose up to her lips with the intention of wiping away some of what had spilled down her chin, but as she moved to do so her fingers disobeyed her. They followed up the line of warm liquid to gather up the thick fluid and in one motion popped it into her mouth, her lips wrapping tightly around the coated digit.

Her last thoughts that night were of how wonderful the liquid had tasted, while in the back of her mind a pair of onyx eyes devoured her.


	5. Hustle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minimal editing, chapter a day has kinda burned me out.
> 
> Severus is exasperated  
> Narcissa is amused  
> Bellatrix is unsure  
> And Hermione is... New to this.

**_Before_ **

“Absolutely not.”

“Bellatrix, please-”

“I’ve made my opinion on the matter quite clear, I’d think. I’m not taking in some _mudblood.”_

“She’s not just _some_ mudblood. Let me remind you; _you turned her.”_

Bellatrix stormed off from her position on the couch while wrapping her arms about herself and pacing a wide circle into the carpet.

“Well I’m not doing it. End of discussion. I’ve already been given a task by our Lord and it doesn’t include teaching some mudpup how to wipe her fangs!”

Severuse was sure that if he pinched his brow any further it might just come off. His nose too. And ears, at this rate. They were absolutely no closer to solving the issue than they had been nearly an hour ago.

“Look, Bella, view this from a different perspective. How does this help the Dark Lord’s plans. Dumbledore has cast her out without even letting Sanguini know. He’s a paranoid old coot, and he wants her removed for some inane reason or another. It would go a long way towards improving the Clan’s view towards _our_ side if they both find out what he’s doing, and see who stepped in to help the girl.”

“What’s your horse in this Sev?” The dark witch rounded on him with a speed that sent him backing into the pillowy cushions at his back, “What do you get out of all this? Why save the girl? Or is there something else, do you fancy her? Is that it?”

He blanched at her accusation, his face paling further than his already sheet white complexion, before getting up and pushing her away from him. He made his way towards the long bar table that held a multitude of different alcohols. 

“My horse in this is that the Dark Lord will know I’m advancing his agenda. And I get to take a swipe at Dumbledore without him ever getting wind of it. And I resent that accusation, I feel nothing towards the girl. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not a monster who runs about wishing death on all my students.”

“Not even one?” She shot him a look that could flay people alive.

“Oh, fuck you. You know exactly what I meant you bloody harpy.”

“Sorry Sev but you’re just not my type. Besides, what would dear departed Rod think, me turning to another’s bed so soon? Just _imagine_ the scandal.” Her pupils contracted before she sat down on the seat he vacated, body spreading out to take up every inch as she lounged. “Fine. I’ll reign her in. But they’ll need to understand, she’s _mine_ after this. We get the Clan on our Lord’s side, but I keep her. We’ll see if the mud can be beaten out of her blood.”

Severus finished pouring out two fingers of an amber colored liquid into a thin crystal tumbler, not caring what it was so much as he cared that it settle his over stressed heart, “Wouldn’t have it any other way Bella. She’s all yours.” As he finished speaking he knocked back the glass and turned it over empty back to the countertop.

And promptly aerated everything in his mouth into a fine mist.

“Sorry Sev,” Narcissa chucked from her shrouded corner of darkness, “Should have warned you, those are all blood mixed.”

The pair of witches shared an amused glance and laughed between themselves while Severus attempted to scrape away the top layer of his tongue.

\---

**_During_ **

Waking felt like rising from the dead to Hermione. Her body was heavy and her limbs lay practically unmoving as she faded away from a dream and into the waking world. Her head was still in just enough of a fog that she remained lying down instead of immediately rising as she’d initially planned. She had potions first-

_“No, I’m in the infirmary.”_

Her mind began to clear through the shroud of mist as the events of the last twenty-four hours flooded back into her consciousness. Outside of her curtained quarters the loud sound of someone yelling obstinately pierced through the otherwise tranquil morning. Vaguely she heard other voices attempting to sooth the angered party, but their tone remained so low that she couldn’t make anything out of it. She rolled back to her side, her body feeling heavier than normal, and settled in with the intent to fall back to sleep. She felt so exhausted that it almost seemed as if she hadn’t rested whatsoever.

Laying there didn’t bring her back to sleep though, and when it seemed she was further from it than when she started she ran through a mental checklist of how she felt. Her body temperature felt normal as she was neither too hot nor too cold, and her headache and nausea had both abated almost entirely. It was there at the periphery of her awareness but nowhere near what it’d been the night and preceding days before. She slowly ran her tongue across her top row of teeth before startling in surprise when she found the correct number.

 _“What…”_ She jerked her eyes open and raised into a seated position in a huff while her hands reached up to feel about her mouth. Her fingernail tapped gently at each as she counted and recounted.

Where yesterday she’d been missing two and been close to losing two more, all four now felt secure in their position. New enamel and bone had grown up rapidly overnight to take their missing place. She reached out to the bedside table and took up her wand and in one fluid motion flicked it about until she’d conjured up a small hand mirror. Bringing it towards her face and she poked bewilderedly at the sharp and gleaming white.

“Ow!” She pulled her hand back sharply, a thin line of red welling up at the tip of her finger from pressing too hard against the tip of her teeth, _“Fangs…”_

She stared at the wounded digit as her mind raced back towards the night prior and her exceedingly odd nightcap. She continued staring, nearly entranced, before using her free hand to check her neck for a pulse.

It was there, just barely. She let out a breath she’d not even known she was holding, her lungs emptying in a huff. The skin beneath her fingers slowly limped out a _thump_ as she stilled and wondered at how slow her heart must be beating. Just the fact that she still had a heartbeat was enough to bring her a small measure of reassurance, before it was all dashed away at the intrusion of her stomach, growling in displeasure and emptiness. 

She rolled off the cot, her bare feet touching the cool tile as she stood and began to stretch. Her muscles were burning and pulling taut at the exertion as she maneuvered herself around in a variety of poses, touching her toes and bending as far as she could.

She stepped forward towards the curtain acting as a door while the shouting in the distance moved closer and closer. She pulled back the curtain to peer around and all at once everything went off the rails.

Bright daylight, that she hadn’t thought anything of, glared right into her eyes and nearly blew out her vision right then and there. She reached up, covering her eyes, wand falling off the table as she backed up into it. 

_THUMP THUMP THUMP_

The sound was back again, pounding outside of the curtains and flowing straight into her ears. Her stomach clenched tightly around air as if it was trying to eat itself. She bent forward around her torso while tears leaked out the corner of her eyes, bright spots flashing and staining behind her eyelids.

“I told you she was here Alastor! The- The Thing!!”

A heavy walking stick thumped up and down on the hard marble floor as someone approached.

_THUMP clack THUMP clack_

The curtain was brushed aside with no care whatsoever for the sensitive occupant within, immediately bathing Hermione in a bright patch of sunlight. She hissed out involuntarily in anger and pain as her arms and hands moved to cover her still bleary eyes. A pair of rough, large hands wrapped themselves around her forearm before dragging her up and nearly pulling her arms from their sockets. She hissed again, some ungodly sound that made another occupant in the infirmary cry out in surprise. 

The pair of hands dragged her out from her space and directly into the harsh sunlight. Her eyes were still teary and squinted closed, leaving the occupants of the room a mystery.

“The Ministry would like to thank you for your service, ma’am. Now, if you’d just be so kind as to remain with the Headmaster, he’ll see you sorted out from here.” The gruff voice spoke with a baritone voice that grated on Hermione’s ears, filling them and rebounding until it was a cacophony. The grasp on her arms tightened again as she tried in vain to pull away from him, to get anywhere but here. “Auror Tonks, if you would.”

A third person she’d been unable to sense walked behind Hermione and her captor, picking up the wand that still lay tossed to the floor. A snapping sound rang out in Hermione’s ears as the thin vinewood was splintered in two.

“No, no! There has to be a mistake, I haven’t done anything! Get Dumble-”

Words froze in her throat as a silencing spell made contact with her throat, seizing her voice box and leaving her mouthing nothing into the air. She was wordless, wandless, in the midst of people she didn’t know. Her mind couldn’t decide if it wanted to be in a rage or remain scared without measure, the suddenness of it all leaving her raw and unable to focus as the voices began speaking again. A second spell shot out and collided with her chest, her whole body locking up as she was paralyzed. 

Her mind screamed and raged in fear and pain as a blindfold was wrapped tightly around her head Rough and jumbled words rattled around her skull as she panicked uncontrollably.

She felt her body pulled backwards without warning, Apparition speeding her away towards some unknown location.

\---

**_After_ **

“You’re sure she’ll be there?”

“He said she’d be there. We have to trust him.”

“I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”

“You wouldn’t throw anything Darling, it’d rumple your suit.”

“Still. My point remains.”

“Whatever happened to that boyhood friendship? He _is_ your child’s godfather you know.”

“Oh, don’t take my words to mean I don’t enjoy his presence in our lives. He’s just straddling the line. It’s a harsh life, he’s gotten far colder than he used to be. I’d expect him to do whatever he needed to survive. Whether that means helping us and hurting the Order, well, that remains to be seen.”

“Well then in that case we’ll just have to trust him. Like I said.”

“Yes, yes. Like you said. Why is it you’re always right?”

“Because I am dear. You should have learned that by now.”

“Give me another twenty-four years and I’m sure that it’ll stick.”

“...”

“Twenty five?”

“...”

“Well then. I guess I’ll move my things to the East Wing for the night.”

Their conversation was cut off from there as a loud ‘ _Pop!’,_ signaled the arrival of Bellatrix as she Apparated into existence. In her arms she supported a small brunette woman in a bridal carry, her arms wrapped around Bella’s shoulders and her face buried in her neck.

Bellatrix’s eyes were feral and her pupils blown wide open, lips hanging apart as she panted harshly. When she made no movement towards Narcissa or Lucius, Narcissa closed the distance instead until she was close enough to rest her palms against her sister’s cheeks.

“Bella dear? Are you alright?”

Her sister remained in place, her eyes seeing somewhere else entirely. Lucius stood and marched towards a golden cage holding a small and angry black owl, its beady eyes roving around the room and sharp beak biting at the cage bars. He released the latch, letting the owl hop to his arm, before slipping a thin roll of parchment into the carrier tied to its leg and letting it out the nearest window. It flew off in a huff of feathers and speed, quickly gaining altitude until it was lost from sight far above the clouds. His task complete, he left the trio to their business, already planning on how to best use the Order’s misfortune for his gain. It certainly wouldn’t do for him to dawdle about with this information.

“Bellatrix,” Narcissa said as a worried tone invaded her voice, “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

A few more seconds passed before the blank stare faded and her eyes came back to life.

“Yes, fine. I’m fine. She’s not, took a hell of a shot to the leg.”

Narcissa looked down between Bellatrix’s body and the girl, only now noticing a long gash that ran up her thigh from knee to crotch. It was long and ragged, edges tearing and blending together as it rose. Bellatrix’s outfit, a thin and lightweight version of her preferred corset and dress combination, was doused in blood from where she had the girl cradled to her body, warm liquid drying and clotting where it lay spread against her body. The girl herself was covered in the remains of a white cotton pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, one side covered in blood and the rest in faint soot marks.

“What happened?”

“Later Cissa,” her sister rushed out, “She’s latched on. Need to get her off before she drains me.”

Narcissa tilted her sisters head gently with her fingers to get a better look at her neck where the young woman was repeatedly clenching and unclenching her jaw. 

“Hmm,” Narcissa hummed in thought, “Let’s get her moved somewhere more stable. I’ll take care of the leg. Were you hit at all?”

“No, they missed. Weren’t expecting the ambush.”

Bellatrix finally fell down to her knees, body thudding loudly against the hard wooden floor, jostling the witch held in her arms. In response the little vampire clenched tighter, mouth driving too short fangs into Bellatrix’s neck with a feral growl.

“Help me get her off?”

“Poor choice of words, sister dear,” the blonde shot her sister a thin lipped smile and mirth filled eyes that Bellatrix could only sigh at.

“Shut up Cissa.”  



	6. Broken Little Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellatrix is pissed.  
> Hermione is hungry.  
> Narcissa is tired.  
> Tonks is... Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta, No Editing

Hermione drifted back to herself with a terrible slowness that moved in sudden lurches and halts. She felt warm and content while something sweet and heady poured down her throat and coated her tongue. Her nose was swimming in the smell, better than fresh baked bread, more delicious than her mother’s cooking. It was heavenly and warm in a way that she’d never experienced before, and she dearly didn’t want to let it go, but someone above her was pulling back on her hair to tug her off while another whispered words against her ear.

Her eyes flew open when her mind caught on that and ramped it up, startling her into being aware of the warm body she was clinging to and the pair of hands pulling her backwards. Black tresses and pale skin stained with blood loomed large in her vision as she released the hold she had with her… teeth?

She physically jumped backwards from her position against the body, falling backwards into a pair of waiting arms and the lap of a cool body clad in a silken black dress. Arms encircled around her torso to trap her arms against herself before clamping down and keeping her in place.

“Well, it seems you can control her quite well,” a warm voice spoke in hushed tones against Hermione’s ear, sweet and warm against her body.

As nice as the body beneath her felt her eyes were locked onto the figure sitting down before her.

It was the woman,  _ the woman, _ who’d bitten her and started this whole mess. She was wearing a thin looking corset that pressed tightly against her chest and a matching dress that covered her bony knees. Her neck was covered in blood that dripped languidly from a ragged looking bite mark below her ear.

“She’s quite a messy eater though. You’ll need to work that out with her,” the body behind her spoke before a warm tongue pressed up against Hermione’s chin to swipe upwards across her lips.

“And you taste just as ravishing as ever, dear sister.”

Hermione’s head was full of cotton as she turned her gaze down, noting the large gash in her pants that revealed clean skin surrounded by scorch marks and soot.

“What… Where am I?” Her voice was hoarse and timid, trembling as she spoke.

“Malfoy Manor, dear. My home,” the woman behind her spoke again, “Your home for the foreseeable future.”

“What are you-”

“Quiet, Pet,” the dark woman across from her spoke up for the first time, her order freezing Hermione where she sat with words stuck in her throat. “Cissa she’s still low, feed her please. I’m going to clean up.”

“Of course Bella. We’ll still be here when you get back.”

Hermione watched as the woman rose up onto her feet while an unsteady and angry tug deep within her chest protested at the woman leaving.

“Now dearie,” the woman, Narcissa Malfoy was Hermione’s guess, spoke up, “I’m going to give you my wrist. Take what you need. I’ll stop you before you take too much.”

Hermione continued to stare at the proffered wrist in confusion as she wondered what it was that she was supposed to do and more confused to  _ why _ this was happening. Her emotions were unstable, and she felt herself beginning to cry, worried and terrified at what was happening. The remaining arm wrapped around her waist tightened as warm lips descended to brush against her neck.

“It’s okay dearie, just let it go. Take a bite, it’ll relax you. I’ll do the same, okay?”

Before Hermione could formulate a reply Narcissa had opened her mouth to press sharp teeth against her flesh. It was all the prompting that she needed and within a second her distracted mind had receded enough as she herself bit down on the wrist at her lips, burying short teeth into the flesh. Her fangs weren’t fully developed and remained unable to pierce properly on their own, leaving Hermione to work her mouth around the skin and bite and grind until she felt warm liquid spilling forth.

Her tongue swirled against broken flesh while her jaw and mouth began aching with every movement. It wasn’t the same pain as it had been before her teeth fell out, just different enough that she started grinding her mouth down again and again to relieve the pressure that was building up.

She swallowed, once, twice, warm and coppery liquid spilling from around her lips while she swiped her tongue against the wound. Narcissa bit down hard, teeth finally piercing Hermione’s flesh and grounding her while she fed.

A haze descended.

\---

Bellatrix was furious beyond measure. 

Her charge, her neonate, her  _ Pet, _ had been harmed by the Order, nearly sliced apart. Not only had they been close to destroying what she owned they had almost ruined her Lord’s plan. He had conversed with them after she’d come to an agreement with Severus, sharing His enthusiasm for their plan. Anything that brought more forces to His side was a noble effort in His eyes.

To that end He’d given her the mission of bringing the girl into the fold and molding her to fit their needs. She was to be brought up to be used against their enemies, paraded as the fallen friend of the Brat. He didn’t expect much to come from the girl’s mind, knowing she was young and kept apart from the machinations of the Order, but He did expect her in pristine condition for Sanguini’s diplomatic approval. Soon she would be presented for the Clan’s approval and Bellatrix could not fail.

She had a month.

Not nearly long enough in her opinion.

The room that she’d been given by her sister was suffering through the bulk of her anger as she shredded it into splinters and torn cloth beneath the ministrations of her wand. The banisters that held up the curtains to her bed were split down the middle and snapped apart like twigs while pillows were torn and emptied of their feathers. The bed lay in two pieces with stuffing and springs poking out throughout it and the sheets had been torn into ribbons as she worked her way methodically around the room. Mirrors in the room and adjoining bath had been shattered into dust and shards of silvered glass that now adorned her hair and clothes in a sparkling sheen.

She raged on until the energy that had built throughout her dissipated. Once it was over she healed the small bite on her neck and marched out from the room in a huff, summoning an elf at the same time and ordering it to fix up the room before she returned. It was a tall order, but one she knew it would complete. If it liked having its head on its shoulders, that was.

When she returned she found her sister still sitting in the room with her legs crossed and the young vampire sitting back to chest in her lap. One arm was wrapped around the girl's waist while long and sharp nails dug into the girl’s stomach. Bellatrix felt a flush rise to her cheeks as she watched her neonate drink greedily from the arm pressed against her lips.

It wasn’t a motherly embrace as there was nothing tender about the way Narcissa’s nails dug into skin. There was nothing tender about the way she was biting down on the girls neck, her head tilted slightly and bobbing as she swallowed. Nothing tender about the blood dripping down the side of her Neonates shoulder while her sister fed.

But it was possessive.

And if there was something that Bellatrix could not stand it was someone else attempting to possess that which she rightfully owned. Something that was  _ hers. _

“Stop.”

The single word echoed around the room as her neonate stilled within Narcissa’s arms. Her mouth opened slightly and eyes turned up to follow Bellatrix’s movement.

“Cissa dear, I’d like to take our guest to my chambers. Are you amenable to that?”

She was furious, and rightfully so, but she held no rights in this home and couldn’t take out her crossness on her sister. She’d only been following her instincts and Bellatrix couldn’t blame her for that, no matter how much she wanted to. She strode forward and wrapped a strong hand around her Pet’s bicep to roughly haul her up and away from her sister’s grasp.

“Are you full? Do you hurt?” She directed her question to the shivering vampire in her grasp, impatient and wanting to rest. The girls eyes were blown out however, shivering from what was only her second ever blood-meal. Bellatrix had no time or patience for this drugged out state and unanswered questions.

“Pet, tell me, are you full, or hurt?  _ Now.” _

That finally did the trick and broke the dazed look in the girl’s eyes as she came back to a measure of sanity that morphed into fear so thick that Bellatrix could taste it.

“...Yes, and no, no I’m not hurt. But-”

“Good then. Let’s go.”

She dragged the witch out towards the door to the room while her bare feet dragged against the hardwood, offering only minimal resistance.

\---

Hermione was furious. She’d been eating-, drinking-, whatever the proper term was, and then she’d been roughly torn away from it by a word.  _ A single word. _ Beyond being frightened at the amount of control the woman seemed to have over her she was terrified at the prospect of being in Malfoy Manor of all places with no idea how she’d gotten there or  _ why _ she was there in the first place.

She struggled against the hold her captor had on her arm, pulling and twisting and trying to dig her heels into the frictionless floor as she was dragged forward. It wasn’t until they reached the doorframe that she was able to grab hold of the wood and clamp her fingers down enough to still her forward momentum. The woman pulled on her once, twice, and still was unable to dislodge her. 

It was a bad move in retrospect, but then again that was par for the course. Hermione’s entire life until this point had seemed to be filled with bad moves.

The woman finally stopped to round on her with a single twist and threw her free hand forward and under Hermione’s chin, fingers wrapping tightly against the column of Hermione’s throat. The next thing Hermione knew she was being lifted into the air and smashed into the wood at her back.

_ She couldn’t breathe. _

It hurt and it burned and it  _ hurt. _ The woman was holding her up high enough that the tips of her toes were only barely touching the ground beneath her. Spots were blossoming into existence throughout her vision as her air and blood supply were cut off. Without warning she was dropped onto the ground, blacking out at the same moment.

\---

“Bellatrix,” Narcissa’s voice was cold as ice and sharp as a whip but not nearly strong enough to counteract Bellatrix’s anger. “Bella!”

Her sister finally dropped the neonate to the ground and stepped backwards to drag breath into her chest as she fought herself for control.

“What Cissa!?”

“If you end up killing her now then we lose any chance of completing our tasks. Can you control yourself or should I take her from here?”

“She’s mine,” her sister burst forth with surprising speed and poked a sharp nail into her chest, “You heard our Lord, she’s mine, mine to do with as I please, mine to train, mine to discipline, not yours!”

“So what, you nearly kill her over this? Jealousy? You’re the one who asked me to feed her!”

“And I didn’t ask you to feed  _ from her,  _ now did I?”

Narcissa huffed in exasperation and pressed fingers into her eyes in the vain hope it would quell the headache that was beginning to blossom. She could never deal with her sister’s jealous streak, always something that was as unpredictable as her moods and just as terrifying.

“Feed from her yourself then if that’ll help calm you down but don’t break her into pieces of my actions. I’m going to sleep, it’s nearing noon and I don’t think I can deal with you any longer.”

“Fine by me sister, the feeling is mutual.”

With a glare and a huff Narcissa left the room, tired and hungry from her too meager snack.

\---

When Hermione finally awoke she was wrapped in different clothes and swaddled beneath a heavy blanket with a body at her back and strong arms wrapped around her. It felt different from the arms of Narcissa, stronger and more wiry with less care for the body between their grip. She shook her head in confusion and hunger, worried about why and how she’d arrived in Malfoy Manor of all places and this bed specifically. She tried to look behind her and caught a glimpse of a mass of dark curls hiding deep onyx eyes that watched her movement without comment.

When the body behind her kept still and quiet she struggled to move more, attempting to pull herself free from the grasp and turn around. 

“Let go-”

“No.” The voice spoke up from behind her in a huff of air that pressed warmly against the nape of her neck.

“Please? Miss…?”

“I think not. And it’s Bellatrix, Bellatrix Black.” The woman, Bellatrix, pressed her forehead against the base of Hermione’s neck and pressed forward until Hermione’s head was bowed as well.

“Then… Ms. Black, tell me why I’m here, please. How I got here. Please…”

“Hmm… little Mudpup is confused. Lucky for you Pet, I’m in a generous mood. Ask away.”

Hermione bristled at the slur, it hurt her however nice they sounded coming from the warm body behind her. And calling her ‘Pet’? 

_ ‘I’m no pet!’ _

“Why am I here,” she finally decided upon.

“That’s a rather esoteric question that philosophers have questioned for years, but since you’re a mere mudblood I suspect you mean it in the more literal sense,” Hermione huffed at the insinuation, “You’re here because my Lord has decided you are useful to our cause. As for why you’re here in this room specifically? I don’t have access to Black Manor so Cissa’s home is second best.”

“What use? Why me specifically,” she squirmed in the grip, only succeeding in getting one hand to wrap up and grab onto her arm, “I’m no one.”

“You were cast out by the Light, and they did so without telling the British Clan that you even existed. It will help our prospective allies make their decision if they see us taking you in and keeping you safe.”

“What do you mean cast out? I don’t remember what happened this morning, my head is-”

“Fuzzy? Confused? Your memories swimming? You very nearly died today, and seem to have finished the first hurdle of the change. Neonates lose portions of their memories”

“Then can you tell me what happened? Did I hurt anyone?”

Bellatrix laughed at that, moving her position slightly to rest her chin against Hermione’s shoulder and turning warm lips to her neck.

“A little Mudpup like you? Hurt someone? Pet, you’re a baby compared to the rest of us. Even a Muggle could try to kill you right now and probably succeed. You did help someone though, in a roundabout way.”

“Well then what happened? Tell me.” A growl invaded Hermione’s voice as she finished asking the question, incensed again at the slur and lack of answers.

“Fine.”

\---

_ **Before** _

Bellatrix had apparated to the street with little issue and found herself popping into existence just a few meters inside an alleyway that hid her from view of the street. The enormous row of buildings on either side of the road hid the street in shadow, helping her mission more than she’d hoped.

No Muggles were wandering about and the street was clear of cars and animals. No crows cawed in the distance and no pigeons shat on the roofs. It was sterile of life but dirty all the same. Just the kind of place for someone to hide something, or someone, unwanted.

She’d been to Grimmauld multiple times as a child in the course of visits to her cousins and spent weekends with her Aunt and Uncle. That had all changed when she and her sisters had, while Sirius and Regulus had not. Walburga, though bearing the proud name of Black, had not inherited the splintered soul that led to Cygnus’s condition, robbing her children of their birthright.

They’d been told off from joining the family safely hidden inside the townhome and had to resort to only seeing them during the months that they all attended Hogwarts. It had been years since she’d stood here and looked across the street towards the home and during that time it had disappeared entirely from view. She knew it was the action of a Fidelius Charm, but she couldn’t pierce the ancient magic. She was as locked out now as she had been back as a teenager.

Loud popping noises in the distance announced the arrival of the caravan, an Auror likely in the lead and her target somewhere in the middle. She stood hidden beneath the cover of a Notice-Me-Not charm and strode forward until she could make out the faces of the five people wandering towards the middle of two townhouses. Before they could stride forward into the protectiveness of the Charm she struck.

One spell, a Bombarda with as much energy as she could fit into it, blasted apart the ground in front of them before they could move into cover. The lead Auror whirled on her, his walking staff already shooting off a string of spells that arched and bent as they sought her out. The middle group were dropping down until one person with bright magenta hair was covering an unmoving body below them. The back two were wheeling off and remaining at arms length from each other as they searched the street for her.

She pushed her lead, evading the spells flying towards her, and returning fire with her own. She danced patterns all around them as they fought to enter, and she fought to deny them. Her push was working, barely. They obviously hadn’t actually expected any interference and the two Aurors at the back were lackluster at best. The Auror guarding her target was remaining on her knees with a shield summoned up around her body but otherwise remaining out of the fight.

The Auror with the walking stick was giving her the most trouble. She struck out at the back two first and cut them both apart from one another until they could no longer adequately protect each other. Sharp slicing hexes torn them to shreds and removed heads from bodies. As they fell to the ground in a heap she redirected her efforts towards the lead Auror, Mad-Eye she’d discerned, dueling him with all her force.

Left, right, down, back, she staggered and strafed around his spellwork while countering each with her own. She never raised a shield, knowing that a wizard of his strength would completely destroy any she could summon, opting instead for speed and relentless presses as she danced around their battlefield.

Her target had begun to stir by that point and was pushing and straining against the odd little duckling trying to keep her pressed to the ground. Bellatrix guessed that she could finally smell the spilled blood and broken free of her restraints, pushing with her magic until she could move and act on her own. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as the neonate dove forward into the body atop her, arms wrapping around and digging in sharp nails while her mouth latched onto the curve of the Auror’s throat. Magenta hair turned red and black in response, startling a soft gasp out of Bellatrix’s chest.

It was a startling sight, and she paused slightly in her movements as she tried to see the Metamorphs face, only knowing one within the Auror Corps. It was a dumb decision in retrospect and left her standing stupidly as she turned her head to the left, watching her neonate sink her fangs deeply into the Auror’s neck over and over. She only got one warning as something flashed in the corner of her eye and before she knew it the sound of a screaming hex was rushing behind the speeding white blast. She immediately dissolved herself into a mass of black mist that roiled and spread out as she let the spell pass through her.

The white spell didn’t stop as it passed through her dematerialized body and smashed directly into the neonate’s leg. The hit gouged out a long line from knee to crotch that immediately blossomed into a bloody edge while she began screaming in pain.

She pulled herself back into a corporeal form and shot a hex that trailed red and gold into the air with as much force as she could muster. In a second it had smashed into the Auror’s head and dropped him to the ground in a pile of splayed limbs and slowly pooling blood.

With a feral growl she tore off in the direction of the two witches on the ground while throwing out an Episkey and Scourgify to the wounded Auror. From there it was a matter of scooping the neonate into her arms and directing her to bite down on Bellatrix’s neck, words tumbling from her lips as she hastily disapparated.


	7. Collision Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is in pain  
> Bellatrix is impatient  
> Severus is unknowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what they say, quantity over quality.... right?  
> Last chapter for a bit, work will go towards A Better Past until that chapter is complete.
> 
> No Beta/No Edit

“Will Tonk’s be okay? After my bite I mean.”

“No. Maybe,” Bellatrix answered in a rough voice into the nape of Hermione’s neck.

“She might… change?”

The arms wrapped tightly around her gave a sharp squeeze as talon like nails pierced the flesh of her stomach, rhythmically digging in and withdrawing. It was both a soothing action and a terrifying one to Hermione. The witch seated behind her was more than capable of digging through her stomach and splitting her open entirely, but was choosing not to. Conflicted was an easy word to describe Hermione’s current emotional condition.

“She might. Her blood is a little… off, shall we say. But then again it’s been quite a long time since I’ve seen Andromeda, we might as well check in on her. Tomorrow would work best, get out of this damned Manor for a bit.”

“Who?” Hermione leaned herself back into the witch in the hope that her easy supplication and soft movements would save her from another throttling.

“My sister, Andromeda Black.”

“And what does your sister have to do with me potentially turning Tonks?”

“Well, seeing as the bitch is my niece, quite a lot. And possibly your first turned, though since your fangs are still so short it’s more likely than not that you just tore skin.”

“My… My what?” Hermione brought a hand up to her mouth to run her fingers over the sharp tips of her canine teeth and the adjacent incisors. 

“Your fangs, girl. You do know what you are, do you not? The incompetent fools told you at least that much, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then say it,” nails pressed down dangerously into Hermione’s flesh until the tips were digging and slicing in. “What are you?”

“I’m fucked,” Hermione panted out as she dropped her head back onto the shoulder of the woman behind her, resignedly giving into the nightmare she’d been thrust into.

Warm chuckles bubbled up the throat behind her, shaking Hermione in her place and sounding like music to her ears.

“Well and truly said, my Pet.”

The older woman released her grip on Hermione’s midsection to brush away the hair draped over her neck and shoulder. With no warning a pair of sharp teeth bit down harshly into the skin of her neck, immediately breaking it and pulling a short gasp from Hermione’s throat. The sting of pain roused Hermione into movement in an effort to escape but with the teeth embedded in her skin and cold hands grabbing onto her wrists, she was stuck in place. 

The bite only continued for a few more seconds, Hermione’s stomach clenching in hunger, before the teeth released from her neck and a tongue began rasping at the broken skin. 

“Let’s go, Narcissa will be waiting for us by now,” Bellatrix said, as she pushed Hermione from her lap to twist sideways off the bed. Hermione’s eyes caught darkness beyond the window to the room and before she could think better of it she opened her mouth to ask a question.

“Isn’t it late though? Wouldn’t she just be sleeping?”

Bellatrix turned to stare at her in confusion before walking closer to grab a handful of Hermione’s hair.

“What did I just do to you?”

“Y-You bit me?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re a vampire,” Hermione grated out as she squirmed and pulled herself nearer the edge of the bed in an effort to relieve the pressure on her scalp. Bellatrix only pulled harder though the closer she came.

“ _ We’re _ Vampires, don’t exclude yourself from this, little Muddy. Now, take a guess, what do  _ Vampires _ do at night?” The hand pulled harder and Hermione could swear she was losing portions of her scalp at this rate.

It clicked at once and Hermione cursed herself for her inane questions, “We’re awake, we’re awake at night!”

“Good,” Bellatrix released her hold on Hermione’s hair and turned away towards the door. She stood there, clad in a black dress that left very little to the imagination, before turning her head back and beckoning Hermione with a nod. “Let’s go, Pet. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Hermione practically jumped from the bed and almost immediately stumbled. Someone had dressed her in a pair of black satin lounge pants and too large black t-shirt during the time she’d been unconscious and now the hem of the pants were so low as to catch underneath the balls of her heels, causing her to have no grip to the hardwood floor beneath her. She caught the gleam of a smile as Bellatrix watched her dizzying movements, slowly trying to right herself without falling on her ass.

With a snort and a glare Bellatrix left the room, Hermione hurrying up to follow after and feet tripping over themselves on the way.

The witch’s temperament was wild and unhinged, careening from possessive to comforting to cold and abusive in the blink of an eye. That knowledge, as well as everything else she had dealt with this week, rattled around in Hermione’s head with a rapidity that had her head spinning. It hurt far more than she could put into words and seemed to only calm itself when she was being held, comforted, or feeding. The woman walking tall in front of her had choked her to the point of blacking out, could control her actions with a single word. It was terrifying.

She wanted out. To get away from this home and these terrible people.

Her musings came to an abrupt halt when they arrived to a large sitting room somewhere deep within the Manor. All about in haphazard disorganization were settee’s and shelves, end tables holding ornamental lamps that sputtered flame and bathed the room in warm, shifting light. A fireplace crackled in one corner, subdued and near embers, while one entire wall was filled top to bottom with shelving and occupied by books. Hermione felt her mouth drop open at the sight, tomes and aged spines sticking out in a random sort of organization that spoke of constant use. It was a beautiful counterpoint to the darkness of the Manor’s inhabitants.

The woman who’d held her earlier that day, Narcissa, was sitting on a high backed settee. She held a crystal tumbler between perfectly manicured fingers, the red liquid filling it sloshing around the sides as she twirled her wrist in circles.

“Bella.”

“Cissa,” Bellatrix answered as she sat down onto the settee facing her sister. When Hermione remained standing at the entrance both witches turned to stare at her. After what felt like minutes Bellatrix crooked a finger and beckoned her over.

“Pet, get over here.”

Hermione did as she was asked, not wanting to incur the witch’s wrath or risk another of those eerie orders that she felt compelled to complete. Before she could sit down next to the witch, Bellatrix shot her palm out with clear intention that Hermione stop walking. So she did. Bellatrix then pointed to the ground with a too sharp nail and gave Hermione a glare that caused cold shivers to run wild up and down her spine.

“What?” Hermione’s voice trembled when it came out and she cursed inwardly at her trepidation.

_ “Down, _ Pet.”

Hermione’s body might now be pale and cold but a flush still rose to her cheeks and neck at the indignation welling in her chest. The order was demeaning, dehumanizing, just the sort of thing she’d wished to avoid. It was an order however, and Hermione was near powerless to disobey it. She slowly sank to her knees as if she was a common pet, turning to face the blonde witch and pushing her back up against the wooden frame of the settee.

Both women ignored her presence as Bellatrix began retelling the tale of her kidnapping to Narcissa, both of them avoiding her as if she was part of the furnishing and not a living being. Un-Living being. Undead? The semantics ran Hermione through the wringer as she waited for Bellatrix to finish her story. She knew the Ministry stance on Vampires, the classification being that they were part of the Living Dead, but she  _ wasn’t _ dead. At least she thought so. Her heart still had a beat, however slow, and her flesh remained firm. Suddenly working for the Ministry to improve the lives of Creatures seemed like a much more important prospect than it had once been.

A hand roughly wrapped itself around her hair and yanked until Hermione was pulled off balance and nearly flailing on the ground.

“Ow!”

“Listen when I call for you Mudblood, or there’ll be a punishment far more severe than some loose hairs.” Bellatrix growled down into her ear as she twisted and pulled, wringing tears from Hermione’s eyes.

“Fine, fine! What the fuck do you want?!” She yelled into the room while bringing up her hands to grip at the wrist that held her hair.

“Get up here, you need to feed again.”

“Why?”

The hand pulled taught again and wrung a scream of pain from Hermione’s throat.

“Because you’re a neonate,  _ and I said so.” _

Hermione let herself be hauled up onto the settee and against the witch’s side before being roughly turned around so that she faced Bellatrix head on. The witch released her hold on Hermione’s hair and busied herself with clearing her own mass of curls from her shoulder and neck.

“Bite, feed. Narcissa and I need to plan for visiting our sister tomorrow and you need to finish growing.”

“What does that mean?" Hermione looked up quizzically into onyx eyes before dropping her gaze to the smooth column of her throat. Her stomach had begun clenching painfully in an effort to drive her forward but she held out, waiting, wanting and needing an answer before she felt safe enough to obey the order.

“Feel your fangs. They aren’t deep and you can’t retract them, like Narcissa and myself,” in explanation she opened her mouth wide and let Hermione watch, entranced, as the pair of sharp canines descended lower in her mouth before pulling back up again with a soft  _ ‘click’. _

“Things like that need to finish growing, a blood-meal will help speed the process along. If you’re to woo the delegation that comes with Sanguini then you need to be full-grown and in perfect health.”

Hermione still didn’t understand what was to be expected of her over the coming weeks and months but the answer slaked enough of her thirst to allow her to obey Bellatrix’s command. She lunged forward with a feral growl and wrapped her lips around the curve of Bellatrix’s neck, her teeth finding purchase as she bit down and dug her way in. She only relented and relaxed when she felt warmth and heat swimming up into her mouth.

\---

Severus was nearing his wits end. The extraction of the Granger girl had gone just about as well as he could have hoped, with one exception. 

Mad-Eye wasn’t dead.

The stubborn old Auror had clung to life by the barest of threads and currently resided in St. Mungo’s, surrounded by other Aurors and a ward full of Medi-witches. Bellatrix’s spell had nearly ended him when it tore apart half his face, leaving it hanging limply by gristle and vein, but unfortunately it wouldn’t kill him. He’d be out of commission for a little while but would ultimately recover. And he’d likely be even more of a hassle after being bested in such a fashion.

Dumbledore, the paranoid old fool that he was, had immediately forsaken Grimmauld Place as a meeting spot for the Order, regardless of the fact that Bellatrix had taken them out from outside the fortified wards of the home.

Now, on a school night, here he was trying to throw up wards and charms to keep away intruders that would likely never come. He still didn’t see the point of having everyone meet outside of Hogwarts and this felt like it was proving his point. The school was so fortified and enchanted that it would take hours if not days to break through and enter the grounds proper, and any intruder could be sniffed out by a variety of means. In addition, meeting at the school would have saved Severus from the painful hours stuck in a muggle neighborhood with an overly bubbly witch, her worrywart mother, and an old pissed off school bully that was upset his home was no longer to be used.

In short, Severus was in hell.

The only bright spot was that he got to watch Mundungus Fletcher scream into nothingness and strain against immovable bonds as he lay on the hard packed ground outside the home. Dumbledore had thrown his ire at the infamous thief after getting it into his head that Mundungus had someone let slip the location of Granger's entombment. That someone as lowbrow as Mundungus could get information to Bellatrix Black was a monumental leap in judgment and conveniently forwent the fact that Bellatrix had partially grown up there herself. But Severus wouldn’t be complaining about it, that was for sure.

It was a nice turn of events that left Severus free to partition out other portions of his mindscape while still remaining free from Dumbledore’s inspection. Even though he could hide that he’d helped get the witch to safety, whatever that meant now that she was well within the clutches of the older Vampiress, he was grateful he didn’t have to. Having the scraggly mind-fingers of the old goat poking and prodding against him was more tortuous than undergoing a Crucio helmed by the Dark Lord.

Three hours passed before he was able to call the hiding complete, his work accomplished. 

The Tonk’s household was absolutely and completely safe from any and all intrusion. He left the home under the watchful eye of the blue haired Auror who still lived here, walking to the Apparition point while deciding on how best to reward himself.


	8. Forest for the Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABP chapter is up, so have a lightly edited trash-vamp chapter.

Hermione’s abduction by Bellatrix had led her expect any number of things to happen to her, but what she hadn’t been counting on was to be pulled out of her sleep by furtive bites and deep scratches of the younger sister, Narcissa. When she cleared her bleary eyes and saw the pale body kneeling down by her bedside she nearly had a heart attack in shock. Blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a bloodred smirk that rivaled her sister.

It was entrancing and terrifying in equal measure. Here was the stuff of legends, here was a butcher hiding behind a lovely smile. 

Hermione felt a tug in her chest and stomach as she peered up into those blue eyes, and before she could even entertain the idea of getting up, the woman wrapped her arms around Hermione’s waist. She pulled, and tugged, until Hermione was extricated from the cold dead weight of Bellatrix’s arms, sliding off the bed and into the blonde’s grasp. Narcissa righted the young witch and then pulled her off by the hand into the labyrinth of a Manor, weaving through hallways until they reached a kitchen of sorts. It was the sort of room that her Mother would have loved, full of knickknacks and cooking implements, and Hermione couldn’t help the sharp tug on her heart as she thought of that.

Narcissa led her over towards the kitchen island, motioning with her hand towards a stool tucked up underneath it before she turned towards the cupboards and removed an expensive looking crystal tumbler.

“We’ve got many things to do today and I’d very much prefer it if you didn’t end up making a scene at my sister’s home. So, you’ll feed now and frequently until we leave.”

A flush tried to angrily break through the surface of Hermione’s unnatural pallor, indignation rising up in her chest at the veiled accusation that she couldn’t control herself.

“I won’t cause a scene,” she mumbled out, her mind fully focused on finding a way to escape the clutches of these made witches when they reached the Tonk’s residence.

“Yes you will,” Narcissa sliced open the skin under her wrist and held it to the glass, letting it slowly fill as though she were a tap, “Unless you’re fed and full, no matter the hold Bella has on you, you’ll lose it. You’ve already had a bite from my niece and you’ll try to do so again. A fully grown vampire could control it, but not one so new as you.”

“Why does Bellatrix have that… hold on me?” She asked while accepting the glass from Narcissa, sniffing the contents gently while she kept her eyes on the blonde vampiress.

“She sired you. Until you’ve fully grown into your new heritage she’ll keep that hold, controlling your actions. It’s a safeguard, if you like, to prevent newborns from doing anything exceptionally stupid.”

“So you both had to go through with it?” Hermione took a sip from the glass, her stomach cramping and unable to refrain any longer. Her teeth, fangs really, clinked softly against the glass as she sipped politely. The blood within held a peculiar taste, one that Hermione could immediately identify as the blonde. It was all ice and splinters, something foreign that wanted to burn as it slid down her throat. 

It was delicious.

“No, we were born like this. You’ve been sired. We went through just about everything you’re going through, with the exception of the control, but it took us years as it replaced a normal puberty.”

“So is Draco…?” Hermione let the question hang while she took another sip, already close to finishing the small glass.

“No, he’s fully human. Lucius never desired to be turned and thus Draco was born just as human as him. Once he graduates I’ll give him the option, but it’ll be up to him to decide if he wants it.”

Hermione digest the information that Narcissa had presented her, and the blood, unaware as her tongue darted out to lick the remaining stain of red from her lips. 

“Why is your sister so possessive over me,” she asked, after their silence extended into unwelcome territory.

“Because by all rights you are hers. That’s not to say I can’t share in the fun every now and then, but she’s far more possessive now that she’s out of Azkaban. I suppose it must help ground her, or something similar.”

“Hermione’s eyes widened dramatically at that information, the dark witch moving close until she practically stared down her nose at her. “Your sister was in Azkaban?!”

“Yes. Until only a few weeks ago she held a permanent reservation there. I suppose the news might finally get out today, Lucius will want to play off your… acquisition.”

\---

When Bellatrix woke to an empty bed her first thought was that Rodolphus had gone off to fuck another one of his constantly revolving whores, but when the memories of the past month filtered into her awareness, she slowly fell into a black murder. She rose, sliding off the bed, and stalking out across the room in only a pair of panties and a long black t-shirt.

Her Mark burned across her forearm, not in the manner that meant she needed to heed His summons, but in the manner that spoke to His displeasure. Her Lord was unhappy, hindered, furious and unwilling to deprive His followers the knowledge of His pain. With that pain, and an empty stomach, she made her way out through the halls and towards the lingering scent of blood in the air.

When she finally arrived she’d expected that she’d find Narcissa wrapped around the girl or feeding off  _ her _ Pet, and she’d brought angry words to her tongue in expectation of that occasion. Those words stilled however when she caught sight of the duo. Her neonate was seated upon a stool, her legs hanging off to dust the tips of her toes against the floor while the long black lounge pants shrouded the rest of her legs from view. The black shirt around her toros cut a tight v-neck to reveal pale skin dotted with freckles after freckle, patterns and whirls of dark color against unnatural paleness. 

Her tongue was poking out, needling against a fang as she looked up towards Narcissa with expectant eyes, drinking in something her sister was saying. Bellatrix’s body still in the entranceway as she remained unobserved by her pet, but likely not by her sister, her hands curling and uncurling at her side as she fought to find something to start a fuss over. 

There was nothing.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Narcissa drawled out in her direction, a cocky grin plastered to her face and eyes bright with mischievousness.

“Cissa,” Bellatrix strode forward, “Pet,” she leaned down when she reached Hermione, teeth ghosting over her throat before biting down harshly, blood spurting into her mouth as she stared down Narcissa. Her Pet didn’t stir, didn’t make a sound, only the rush of breath betraying that she was alive at all. Narcissa grimaced at the display, rolling her eyes and turning back towards the cupboard to retrieve her own glass.

Bellatrix released the hold once she was satisfied her point had been made, whipping out her wand and throwing a healing and cleaning charge at Hermione’s neck. 

“When did you want to leave, Cissa?”

“As soon as you’re both dressed and ready. Dromeda might be a blood traitor but I’ll not have you making me look anything less than the best.”

“Understood.” Bellatrix sat down on the unoccupied stool next to Hermione, scratching idly at the retreating burn of her Mark as her Lord’s anger finally began to dissipate.

“Um,” Hermione’s voice spoke up tentatively, “What should I wear when we go? I didn’t exactly have enough time to pack a suitcase when Moody abducted me.”

“You’ve near enough the same body structure that we had when we were younger, I’m sure we can put something together for you to wear. Or you can wear some of Bella’s things, she’s just as small as you,” Narcissa piped up from across the room, a tilted grin on her face.

“I am  _ not _ small,” Bellatrix huffed out while glaring daggers at her traitor of a sister.

“...Well, you are pretty much only as tall as me…”

Her Pet seemed to realize the mistake as soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes screwing shut in anticipation of pain or torment.

“Neither of us are small,” Bellatrix levely replied, Hermione startling into cracking an eye open, “Narcissa is just freakishly tall.”

Her crack earned her a pointedly upset look from her sister and a limp sort of half smile from Hermione.

\---

“Here, try these on,” Narcissa threw a pair of blue robes towards Hermione. The young witch was standing in the center of Narcissa’s bedroom and looked so afraid to touch anything that she was practically shivering. All around her were countless items and artifacts, glass plates that were decorated in beautiful calligraphy and designs from ages past, crystal and silver knick-knacks that Hermione couldn’t make heads or tails of.

The walnut vanity in the center of the wall held a plethora of perfumes and colognes that it almost looked like Snape’s potions store room, bottle after bottle labeled and identified in foreign scrawls that Hermione couldn’t read. The bed, a massively overstuff king-size mattress, was centered against the other wall and supported four banisters that held a large black curtain, satin or something similar. Pressed against either side were end-tables, each holding a few items. Lucius’s, the leftmost she assumed, held a pocket watch and a treatise on Australian business regulations. Narcissa’s held paperback after paperback, some more muggle than others.

Another item of clothing crashed into Hermione’s unaware face, ruining her inspection and pulling her back to the present.

“Try all of that on and then let me know what you think. I’ll do your makeup before we leave, no sense in letting you muss it up until then.”

Narcissa walked out of the room and pulled the door shut behind her with a sharp click, leaving Hermione truly alone for the first time since she’d been abducted. Hermione immediately dropped the load of clothes onto the bed and raced on uneven feet towards the window. Her fingers just barely found purchase on the smooth wood surrounding the glass before a massive shockwave ran through her arms and across her chest, blowing her backwards and onto the floor in a heap. The remains of the ward on the window burned a bright and sickly yellow as Hermione struggled back to her feet.

She cursed herself inwardly for the foolish action, not having even bothered to check for wards before touching it. That thought, however, brought her back to the uncomfortable realization that she was wandless, and likely to remain so for quite some time.

Resigning herself to play along for now, she turned back towards the bed and began to disrobe, the long black shirt and lounge pants going into a pile on the floor along with her underclothes. Narcissa had thought of everything and before too long Hermione was clad in a brilliantly blue robe that sat snugly over her frame and accented nicely with a silvery gray blouse. A matching blue skirt dropped down from her waist to hang about her knees, the loose fabric flowing around her as she twirled in place before the large mirror of the vanity, the whole ensemble reminding her of fashion statements from generations past. A pair of heels and silvered stocking completed the look, Hermione grinning at herself in the mirror before heading off in search of Narcissa.

Who just so happened to be nowhere within sight.

The one who was, however, was Bellatrix.

The woman was wearing another corset and dress combination, a delicate looking item that was so decked out in fanciful lace and trim that Hermione almost couldn’t see past it to see the crazed vampire she knew lurked beneath. It was a dark black, far blacker than any garment that Hermione had ever seen before to the point that it seemed to swallow up the light that reached it, and flowed all around her to give the impression of a constantly shifting mist.

It was beautiful.

The dagger sharp grin on her face? No less beautiful. 

But far more terrifying. 

"Well don't you just look cute enough to eat.." Bellatrix swiped away at an errant bunch of curls and frizz that had floated off to cover part of her cheek and brow, fingernails brushing sharply against her cold skin. 

"Hmm… I like the look. Let's go, Pet." 

The woman twirled around in a flash and began stalking down the corridor at a blistering pace that left Hermione in a daze. All she could do was stare at the retreating form with an open mouth expression of bewilderment while her head remained in the clouds. That is, she remained as such until the dark witch halted and turned, her piercing black eyes narrowing as a look of displeasure bore down on her face.

“Let’s  _ go, _ Pet.”

Her words shook Hermione from the stupor she’d fallen into, and she let her feet hurry off to follow the witch down the hallway until they were standing toe to toe. Bella sniffed in approval before wrapping a cold arm around Hermione’s waist as she turned to guide her to the sitting room that she’d arrived in the prior night, Narcissa standing in the corner with a look of impatience on her face.

“There you are, now, let me look at you,” she pulled Hermione out of Bellatrix’s grasp, twirling her in place as she viewed the clothing from all angles. “Well I suppose that’ll do. Did you feed her yet Bella?”

The dark witch shook her head before offering up a wrist to Hermione, the length of which was grabbed by her own pale hands before she even realized it. Within a second she’d descended upon the soft length of her arm, teeth breaking the skin and stomach filling while Narcissa and Bellatrix talked, Hermione remaining unable to follow the conversation. The wrist was eventually tugged from her grasp but not before a feral growl lurched it way out Hermione’s throat, earning her a smirk of approval from Narcissa and a glare from Bellatrix.

Narcissa took over again, trying to tame her wild curls and frizz into a more manageable style, and eventually settling on a long French braid that mostly managed to control her birds nest. One short round of makeup application later, and Hermione was ready to go.

“Are we taking the Floo, or…?” Hermione asked, looking out towards the fireplace.

“No, our sister is blocked, so we’ll be taking a more unconventional method of transportation,” Narcissa answered as she opened up a small oaken box that had heretofore been resting on the mantelpiece. She opened it up to reveal a brooch in the shape of a crow, carved out from what looked like obsidian and wreathed all around in silver wire. Gold filigree embedded directly into the stone spelled out the words  _ ‘Toujours Pur’.  _

“This is a portkey that Dromeda gave use before she left,” Narcissa began explaining to Hermione, “It’s tied to her physical location and activated with a keyword. It’ll bring us through any wards or barriers that she may have set up, but it’s been so long I doubt she even remembers giving it to us. Should be fun.” A look of maniacal glee broke out on Bellatrix’s face while Hermione’s stomach dropped through the floor of her abdomen. She looked up at Narcissa, hoping to find some reassurance form Bellatrix’s mania, but there was none to be found. The blonde witch seemed just as gleeful at the prospect of dropping in unannounced as her sister.

A hand roughly grabbed onto Hermione’s wrist as Bellatrix grabbed onto the black stone, Hermione’s heart leaping into overdrive as Narcissa uttered the passphrase.

_ “Family.” _

The magic activated, yanking Hermione up off her feet and into the air as her breath left her body, the world spinning and twirling around her as she compressed and spun through the ether.

Eventually it stopped.

And then someone screamed.


	9. Pomeranian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is upset  
> Tonks is afraid  
> Andromeda is surprised  
> Narcissa and Bellatrix are... Amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, light editing, enjoy

Andromeda Tonks née Black was having a perfectly fine evening. 

Her husband had retired upstairs some time ago, ready to sleep away the stresses of his Ministry job, her daughter was relaxing quietly on the couch as she flipped through a Muggle magazine and changed her hair to match whatever picture caught her eye, and Mundungus Fletcher was in the basement beneath a heavy silencing charm and multiple locks to keep him there. On top of that, Sirius was out with Remus and wouldn’t be returning for a couple of hours at the least. 

Albus hadn’t called any meetings that evening, so she’d had the home to herself for the most part, using her free time to garden. She’d planted three new rows of daisies and though it was nearing winter the space was spelled to shake off the cold, something Ted had done for her on her birthday this year. Being outside necessitated a heavy layer of sunscreen, a deep and weathered tan appearing on her skin regardless, but it was relaxing work.

She’d planned on sipping from her stash, reading a few Jane Austen novels, and head off to bed before Ted woke up for his shift. All throughout their marriage Ted had been aware of what she was, accepting and kind to her from the moment he’d found out. Dumbledore was aware of her condition, but was so set in his ways that he thought of her as no more than a long-lived house-witch, something she dearly resented but put up with nonetheless. It was only through his help that she’d managed to keep her head, Moody would have torn it off otherwise. In return, she had helped him during the First War, keeping the British Clan from going over entirely to Voldemort’s side. She had no doubt that with his return she would eventually be asked to do so again.

Her oh so relaxing evening was very rudely shattered into a million little pieces when the whooshing sound and pressure differential that anticipated portkey travel invaded her little sanctuary. A void opened up in her living room, right before her seat, depositing three individuals onto her living room floor. Two were women she hadn’t seen in ages, one blonde and the other with black hair, one done up in lace and corset while the other worse a sage green robe. Between them was a small witch, laying face down into the floor, wearing a brilliantly blue robe and the sporting the paleness common to those of her condition.

Andromeda remained in place, safely pushed back into her chair. Staring at the intruders. Quiet.

They stared back.

She broke first.

_ “What the bloody fuck!!” _

\---

Hermione was an animated tangle of limbs flying off through the ethereal and stomach churning free fall that was inherent in portkey travel, until all at once she wasn’t.

And then someone yelled. Screamed, really. Top of their lungs type of voice, loud and piercing and dear Gods her nose hurt.

Stuck on the ground with her nose pressed painfully into carpeting, Hermione remained still as her body began to register pain from all around her. A cold hand reached down, gripping her shoulder to roll her over before grabbing up her limp wrist and hauling her to her feet, steadying her once she looked like she would fall again.

“Come on Pet, look alive now.” Bellatrix’s voice was brusque as she trailed warm air against Hermione’s cheek, her eyes straining to see around.

Sitting in an easy chair with a paperback book in her lap was a woman who almost could have been Bellatrix’s clone. The woman had long auburn curls that twisted and wrapped in on themselves in the same haphazard fashion as Bellatrix, her mouth twisted into a familiar grimace and eyes wide with either fright or anger.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure which it was.

“Come now Dromeda, is that any way to greet us? We’ve been dying to see you it’s been so long,” Narcissa started while looking around herself at the small but cozy room, “I’m glad to see you’re still making due. Somehow.”

Tonks, who until this point had been lying down on the couch with her hair as white as her face, suddenly leapt up to her feet and brought her wand to bear, the small tip shaking slightly as she pointed it at Bellatrix’s face. Without realizing it, Hermione moved slowly until she was in front of Bellatrix, keeping the similarly statured woman in her silhouette. Her eyes pierced Tonks as her hands curled into clenched fists, fingernails biting down through soft flesh.

Tonks faltered, just a second, but it was more than enough to still her so that a yellowish spell could smash into her side, dropping the young Auror where she stood as she became paralyzed.

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda re-sheathed her wand, “That’s not how we greet guests. Even the uninvited ones. I apologize for my outburst, your arrival was… unexpected.” The warm and honeyed tones of Andromeda’s drawling accent brought Hermione out of her anger and back to the present, her body relaxing as she stepped backwards into the solid flesh and waiting arms of Bellatrix. An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight and rubbing soothingly over her stomach, long nails catching on the fabric of her blouse.

“Good Pet,” Bellatrix purred into her ear, ending the praise with a sharp nip to Hermione’s ear lobe. The young vampire shuddered at that while her body inexplicably began to warm, a flush trying to gain ground on her skin. 

“Now, how about we all sit down. Cissa, Bella, I’ve got my hand on a token that will alert Dumbledore. He’ll arrive here far quicker than you could leave, I assure you that. Please don’t make me use it.”

Narcissa nodded once, Bellatrix only deigning to huff in displeasure before she too nodded at the request.

“Good! And I suppose you’re Ms. Granger? I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you but then I’d be lying through my teeth.” Andromeda’s words were so at odds with her tone and something about the way her voice held a silent accusation ticked off a nerve in Hermione’s overly frustrated and confused brain.

“I wouldn’t even be here,” she retorted, “If your daughter hadn’t brought me off to die.”

That comment seemed to catch the brunette vampire by surprise, her eyes widening slightly and a look of confusion spreading across her face. She turned towards her daughter, still lying on the ground and immobile, before pulling her wand back out and uttering the counterspell to release the binding.

“Nymph, is she correct?”

The Auror sputtered and stammered as she dashed up to her feet, her eyes jumping back and forth between her mother and the new arrivals. “No, no! Of course not Mum, we were merely escorting Ms. Granger on Dumbledore’s request, he wanted her moved out of the castle for her safety while she cha-”

“Oh bollocks to you,” Hermione angrily jumped in, “You snapped my wand!! And Moody petrified me! That’s not helping escort someone somewhere safe, that’s trussing them up for a slaughter.”

For her part ANdromeda at least had the decency to look appalled as Hermione laid out the allegation, Bellatrix’s arm holding tighter as Hermione tried to dash forward into Tonks’s space.

“And  _ now _ I know it was fucking Dumbledore that had you do it, I thought it was the bloody Toad, but  _ NO,  _ it’s the Headmaster, the man who I thought I could trust! Apparently your Aunt’s have both told me more truth in the past twenty-four hours than he ever has!”

_ “Nymphadora,” _ Andromeda’s voice was a startling growl as she rounded on her daughter, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I was only following Moody’s orders! I- He- I was brought along, he told me what I needed to do!”

That was definitely the wrong answer as both Andromeda and Hermione verbally launched into the now cowering witch after she gave them that poor excuse. Tonks continued to back up and shrink inwardly, her eyes darting furiously between her mother and Hermione, fear evident as she faced a near frothing Hermione. 

Bellatrix’s grip faltered for only a second but it was more than enough time for Hermione to push herself forward and nearly launch herself into the Auror’s body. She was only stopped by the timely intervention of Narcissa, the witch grabbing her shoulder as she strode forward and turning her back towards Bellatrix who immediately leaned down to throw Hermione up over her shoulder. Hermione, now facing the wrong direction, began screaming at her newest target, launching ineffectual blows to the woman’s back with pounding fists as her voice rose up another level. 

“Well if she hadn’t  _ bit _ me-”

“You bit my daught-”

“She was holding me down and taking me-”

Round and round it went until-

**_“SILENCE!”_ **

A voice from up on the stairwell to the side of the room roared forth through the amplification of a sonorous charm, sounding a thousandfold times louder than it should have. 

The room came to a crashing halt as Andromeda whirled on the new arrival, Tonks scurried off behind the couch to safety, Bellatrix and Narcissa both turned towards the stares as Hermione strained herself to see around. Bellatrix, noticing the vampire over her shoulder shifting in desire to see, dropped her off to the side, letting her land in a collapsed pile of limbs and impotent anger.

“Narcissa, Bellatrix. Long time no see.” The voice began once more, finally at a reasonable level. “Now, it’s nearly one in the morning. Much as I love a good ol’ family get together, would you mind keeping it down just a tad? I’ve work in four hours and I’d prefer not to look like the living dead,” Hermione finally stood up under her own power, “No offense.”

Hermione stared up at the bedraggled looking man, her mind connecting that this was likely Ted Tonks. He was tall and lanky, with a light tan to his skin that highlighted the few wrinkles and freckles he had, his head full of short cropped black hair. He looked fatherly, gentle even, not someone who would be a threat. Her body relaxed as the silence began to stretch out between them all.

“Hi Ted,” Bellatrix said, her voice a falsely sweet falsetto and her hand limply waving from her side.

“Hi Bellatrix. You’re looking well, all things considered.”

“Ah, yes, that’s cause of fresh blood over here,” she roped her arm around Hermione’s shoulder, pulling her tightly against her side, “Cures all that ails ya’. You should try it some time.”

Hermione could only stare between the pair in confusion, her shoulder being poked painfully by the dagger like nails of Bellatrix.

“Well, I’ll think about it,” Ted replied, “I’m going to go back to sleep. You all have a lovely night, just try to keep it down? And don’t ruin the place, I’ve only just cleaned it yesterday.”

“Of course. We’re quite sorry for bothering you Edward,” Narcissa replied, a slight smile on her face, “We’ll keep it orderly. Goodnight.”

With that said, he turned back towards the upstairs landing, heavy footfalls thumping through the house as he headed back to sleep.

“Well then,” Andromeda huffed and clapped her hands together before intertwining her fingers, “How about we all sit and talk this through? I’ve got a lovely tea just come in from France.”


	10. Acclimatization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonks is bewildered  
> Andromeda is amused  
> Hermione is relaxed  
> Sirius is... unaware.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, it's another poorly edited chapter of our lovely trash-vamps and their baby gay Hermione.

Hermione was confused. Broken even.

Here she was, sitting in the lap of wanted murderer Bellatrix Black. With said woman’s wrist firmly in her teeth and tongue lapping at a ragged wound she’d inflicted not even thirty seconds ago. And growling whenever Tonks so much as looked at her. Oh yes, she definitely couldn’t forget that lovely new development.

She eventually concluded that her life, or rather un-life, was completely bonkers.

Across the table from where she sat was the rigid form of Andromeda Tonks, a teacup on the table in front of her and a knowing grin pulling tight across her lips. Off to her right sat Narcissa, the perfect picture of poise and regal upbringing, her blonde hair brushed off to the side while she sat with rigid back and elbows very clear of the tabletop. And finally, on her left, sat Auror hopeful and recipient of Hermione’s ire, Nymphadora Tonks.

_ ‘We make an odd bunch,’  _ Hermione wryly thought between sips from the warm tap trapped between her lips.

When they’d first sat down Andromeda had set them all up with rose colored tea cups and dainty little napkins that looked like something Hermione’s grandmother would have chosen. One sniff had told her all she needed to know about the brew contained within the cups, Hermione’s nose turning up and her stomach growling uncomfortably.

“So!” Andromeda started the conversation unbidden, her eyes glancing between the three intruders before stopping on Bellatrix.

“I would like an apology,” Hermione spoke up behind the cold skin of Bellatrix’s wrist. The wrist she still held in her grip was pulled slowly away until Bellatrix was free from Hermione’s grasp entirely. She licked up the centerline of the wound once, twice, her magic crackling blue sparks upon the broken flesh before it knitted itself closed. Hermione wasn’t paying attention to the movements behind her though, eyes still trained on the now chartreuse colored witch to her left. “You almost brought me to my death. I’d say that deserves at least some level of actual apology.”

Bellatrix leaned in low against Hermione’s side before swiping her tongue against the red stained skin of her chin and lips, a low cackle rumbling out from her throat.

“Well,” Andromeda started, “We don’t know that-”

“Yes we do.” Narcissa’s look brokered no argument as she interrupted her sister. “We know with absolute certainty that had she entered Grimmauld, she’d have never left. Moody would have  _ interrogated _ her, and then disposed of any evidence. The Goat is too paranoid to leave her alive.”

“Albus has been quite fine in keeping my secret,” Andromeda responded, her eyes narrowing down to a thin line as she peered at her younger sibling.

“He’s been perfectly fine with blackmailing you, you mean. Not a single thing he’s ever done has been for the sake of generosity.”

Tonks snorted into the palm of her hand, a bored look stapled to her features while she watched her mother defend herself.

“He has his reasons-”

“All of his reasons died in the fifties, he’s just a paranoid old coot whose too damned devoted to forestalling change to see past the issues laying at his feet.”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Andromeda said before taking a sip of her tea, “He’s also fully devoted to the destruction of Voldemort. That’s certainly something to celebrate.”

Both Bellatrix and Naracissa hissed and winced slightly as their sister mentioned his name, a look of pain skirting across their features as their hackles rose. In an utterly weird moment of sympathetic pain, Hermione also felt her own, albeit far milder, reaction to hearing the name aloud.

_ ‘Peculiar…’ _

The three elder witches continued on with their bickering as Hermione’s attention floated to the background, her eyes falling towards Tonks as her breathing evened out against the slight bud of anger still in her chest. She felt at once betrayed and ashamed. She’d once, not that long ago, had a mild crush on the prospective Auror that had caused her heart to beat warmly whenever the witch had stopped by Grimmauld during the summer months. All that admiration, if it could be called that, was still present but seemed subdued and muted after the events of her kidnapping. The rest of her sour memories were tinted or lost from the events of her ‘rescue’ by Bellatrix.

Hells, everything that had happened to her after her rescue had been easy. Almost too easy. She’d been able to dive right into her new form of existence, not once objecting or disgusted by it. Even despite the weird hold the woman had on her with her commands, Hermione only managed to have an emotional breakdown once, and Bellatrix hadn’t even been involved then. The pain certainly wasn’t a fun aspect of the last few days, but she wasn’t beaten black and blue and Bellatrix had been down right homey since after her last hair pulling incident.

“Why am I so calm with all this?” Hermione’s questioning voice broke through the sister’s conversation, their eyes all turning towards her. “Now that I seriously think about it, all this has been relatively easy. Why? It seems like, you know, dying and suddenly being thrust into an entirely different existence would elicit some sort of, I don’t know, dread or something? Anything?” Her slow heartbeat began to accelerate the longer she kept talking, “I mean I don’t think I can ever see my parents again and I’m suddenly biting at a bunch of older women, no disrespect you’re all beautiful, but that seems like something that anyone sane would objec-”

Bellatrix’s sharp bite into her neck stopped all words and thoughts as her body tensed in pain before relaxing into the warm grip of the witch at her back. Within seconds she was as content as could be, basically purring into the warm hold the dark witch had on her, shivers of pleasure racing up and down her spine.

“She’s like a little kitten,” Narcissa’s voice filtered into her ears past the sound of rushing blood, “Just need to keep a tight hold on her.”

“How did you…?” Tonks stared between her mother and Aunt with a confused look and hair turning three shades of green.

“Family secret dear, ask your mother about it some time.”

“Fuck off, Cissy.”

\---

Minutes passed like that, Bellatrix still buried into the muscle of Hermione’s neck, a drip feed of blood leaking past the tight seal her teeth made while the other two sisters bickered and fought with sharp words honed on sibling rivalry. Hermione’s mind was still absently approaching the subject of her control, skittering around the edges before falling back into the relaxed stupor brought on by her warmly singing body. 

Her eyes ended up finding Tonks’s, the woman’s face a glowing mask as she unabashedly stared at Hermione and Bellatrix draping over her. Her eyes were gold, flickering some seconds to blue or green, and her lips were parted slightly while she stared. With each passing second Hermione lost more and more control, until the flutter in her heart started sending pulses of warmth throughout her body. She’d tasted the witch once before, knew she had based on Bellatrix’s words even if she herself couldn’t remember it, and slowly the two dagger sharp spikes of enamel in her mouth began to lower out millimeter by millimeter as something unwound within her core.

The two arms around her waist began to close tighter around her body while sharp fingernails scratched her stomach through the thin material of her blouse. She could feel herself tingling, extreme heat and a pounding  _ need _ pooling in her chest to drop into her core, thighs pressing tightly against each other in an effort to build some sort of friction. Unbidden her body began to rock back and forth against the lap of the witch below her, small motions at first that grew and grew the longer that dreaded heat continued unabated, breath rising, skin tingling, until-

“Bellatrix, stop.”

The pair of teeth in her neck released with a wet  _ ‘Pop!’ _ , leaving Hermione clawing at the body beneath her as she sat on the edge of her mind, body still shaking and practically vibrating with need.

“That might fly at Cissy’s home, but not here. Understood?”

Hermione leaned herself backwards against Bellatrix’s shoulder when it became clear that nothing would be allowed to continue. So slowly that she didn’t even realize it at first, a high-pitched whine forced itself from her throat before the hand across her stomach tightened uncomfortably. The noise stopped.

“Understood dear sister.” Bellatrix’s voice shook Hermione as she spoke, rumbling throughout the small room.

“So then, what will you two do with her?” The question was directed towards the sisters and Hermione couldn’t help but feel a twinge of indignation at that. Andromeda was talking about her and ignoring her all at the same time.

“Sanguini has been informed. He’s requested a diplomatic meeting.”

“Ah,” Andromeda looked down into her cup, “Well that I guess I’ll be out of your hair then.”

Hermione struggled herself forward from her reclined position, pushing and batting the witch’s hands away. “Let me down,” she forced herself fully from the cold grasp, “I’m perfectly fine with sitting in a chair by myself.”

Bellatrix pushed her off her lap with a huff, Hermione falling with a soft, “Oof,” onto the floor. 

“Sit there.”

“What?”

_ “Sit there.” _

The honeyed tone that Bellatrix spoke in was enough to keep Hermione sitting on her arse, body leaning against the chair while her shoulder pressed against Bellatrix’s leg. Rather than pout at her situation she let her mind wander into safer topics, ridding herself of the remaining energy that had pooled from her earlier state. Tonks was still peering down at her, a twisted little smile on her face, and Hermione felt the sudden urge to swipe it off, regardless of Bellatrix’s earlier instructions.

With a momentous amount of effort she managed to strain her leg muscles enough to lean forward into the beginning of a crouched position, preparing to strike.

She was rudely torn away from her plan of action however, once the sound of metal in a lock reached her ears. The entire table stopped moving, voices halting mid sentence.

“Dromeda? You still up?” The sound of a slightly inebriated voice reached their ears, the dining room so quiet now that one could hear a pin drop. “Andromeda?”

Heavy footfalls paced closer through the living room, eventually coming to rest in the entrance to the dining room. Sirius, standing slightly hunched over, Remus Lupin’s arm tossed around his shoulder and one arm behind his back for support.

“Hi Siri,” Bellatrix opened with, a limp wave and an awkward smile on her face.

“Fuck.”


	11. A Hasty Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is exhausted  
> Bellatrix is pissed  
> Hermione is hungry  
> Remus is... over the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minimal editing/short chap  
> this is fast becoming some weird sort of comedy sketch, I don't know where it's going but it'll get there at some point.

When the spells started flying Hermione couldn’t tell who shot first. All she knew was that suddenly green and red flashes were flying past her at absurd speeds as she was pushed away and shoved up against a wall. Tonks wrapped an arm around her chest, holding her to her front and keeping her wand trained at her temple with a clear threat in mind. Not that she could do anything, she was wandless after all. The Black sisters all flew in different directions; Narcissa throwing the table up on its side before reaching over to drag a maniacally grinning Bellatrix behind the impromptu cover, and Andromeda standing tall in the middle with a shield ward flying up on either side of herself.

Almost immediately a thundering of feet on the floor above heralded the arrival of Ted to the fray. He skidded to a stop on the stairwell with wand in hand and nothing on besides a pair of blue boxers, his eyes shifting back and forth as he attempted to understand just what the hell was happening in his home. When Remus, still drunk and only falling deeper into a stupor, shot a spell up his way with a howl, Ted could do no more than retreat back up to the landing with Expelliarmus guarding his flight.

Andy seemed mostly intent on calming the situation down as she shouted to both her cousin and her sisters to drop their wands. Neither party were listening to the woman and Hermione had just about lost her wits by the time the battle ran into its fifth minute. She was torn between three options; none of which were particularly appealing. 

She could remain stuck to Tonks side and hope that when it all ended they would show her leniency and refrain from killing her, an unlikely option considering Dumbledore’s last play. She could also intercede on behalf of the Order and turn around to capture the two dark witches behind the table, hoping that she’d be allowed to live out the rest of her life like Andromeda. But that would only leave her at the mercy of a dodgy old coot who seemed more determined to meddle and obfuscate than take care of his young students. Or she could attempt to help Bellatrix and Narcissa, the two who’d done the most towards welcoming her into this new existence, even at the threat of pain or torture.

_ ‘They can all sod off.’ _

Hermione buckled her knees and dropped straight down through Tonks grasp before springing forward with unnatural speed towards the far wall in a mad dash to avoid the spells flying overhead. As she passed Andromeda she looked up,  _ ‘Gods she’s a bloody twin,’ _ the older woman looking down for a split-second before her attention was drawn back towards the piss drunk werewolf on his back while shooting spells.

Once she was safely on the other side of the room, Tonks staring at her with open mouth and eyes wide, Hermione stood to press her back against the wall before shuffling towards the window to her right. As she reached a hand out a spell behind her went wide, smashing into the drywall and showering her with bits and pieces moving fast as shrapnel.

_ ‘This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy!’ _

In a moment of hesitation her eyes found Bellatrix, black orbs feral and delighted, as the woman began waving her down in lieu of words that would never be heard over the din of battle. She sped through a quick ponder at what the consequences of her actions would be before turning and throwing herself at the window. Her fingers scrabbled at the bottom lip as she struggled to open it, a second or two passing before it blessedly slid to the top to allow her an exit. Without a second thought Hermione threw herself forward-

Only to smash into the window screen and fall down straight against the outside wall, brick and mortar scraping against her chin and hands as she made her inelegant landing to a patch of daisies and mulch. 

Hermione spit wood chips and dirt from her mouth before righting herself and taking off into the night, her lungs heaving and un-dead heart pumping as she made her escape. Her feet skidded to a halt when she reached the wardline; turning and observing the remaining chaos of the home. Stray spells and hexes were lighting up the interior with a cacophony of light and sound set to some neo-futuristic rave.

She turned, and ran.

\---

The inside of Andromeda’s home was quickly becoming a demolition zone. Remus was haphazardly flinging spells from his position on the floor, drunkenly muttering as he did more harm for his side than good. Sirius was quickly becoming proficient in dodging spells from his front and his back. Sirius’ spellwork was quite practiced and reasonable, all things considered, as he attempted to flush the two witches out while avoiding Andy or Nymphadora. The two witches seemed the most worried about the state of their home and had given up fighting in favor of throwing up shield spells to block as much of the damage as they could.

Bellatrix stared out at the ruined room from her pech behind the table and tried to sight out Hermione, who had been coming closer not that long ago when she’d made the universal motion of  _ ‘get the fuck over here now’. _

But the young vampire was nowhere in sight.

“Stop!” Her voice was loud but still only just barely heard over the din of battle, and the only one to immediately stop was Narcissa, a hand covering her ear as she pinned Bellatrix with an angry stare. She yelled it again, this time half her head over the top of the table in the hopes that the others would hear her. Andy finally seemed to notice, tapping her daughter on the shoulder at a rapid pace, Sirius seeming to also notice the lack of return fire as he halted his own.

Remus was still on the ground though, shooting spells back and forth in his stupor, before a shot from Ted finally landed and knocked the werewolf out.

"Why,” Sirius kept his wand pointed at a forty-five degree angle towards the table, his body shaking with effort as sweat dripped down his brow, “Why are we stopping?” 

“Because the girl is gone you daft fucking dog!”

“W-what? How could you let her escape?” He looked at her with eyes wide in incredulity, his wand arm dropping to his side while Ted wandered down the stairs. “Hey Ted,” Sirius mock saluted, eyes turning back to Bellatrix while Ted joined Andromeda.

“I didn’t let her escape, you barged in here and started shooting-”

“I did not,” he interrupted her with an indignant tone, “You lot started-”

“Doesn’t matter which of you started it, you’re all cleaning it up.” Ted’s baritone voice broke through before the cousins squabble could continue.

“Did you call Dumblefuck?” Bellatrix pierced her brunette sister with a glare, “I don’t fancy going back to prison over a family matter.”

“No, not yet. I was just about to though.”

“That might have been useful earlier Mum,” Nymphadora’s hair shifted across the rainbow while the young Auror looked around herself for even the slightest hint of renewed aggressions.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bellatrix waved away the argument, “What matters right now is finding my fucking neonate. I don’t think Dumblefuck will go easy on any of you if he finds out you let her out to feed unsupervised.”

“So you’re suggesting what?” Sirius asked, his wand hanging limply at his side.

“I'm suggesting, you fucking knob, that we  _ leave _ and go find her! We’ve only a few hours' til sunrise, and we’ll need to be quick about it.”

\---

Hermione was lost.

Well and truly lost.

Without easy access to a wand her sense of direction had been left up to her ability to orient herself based on natural surroundings. That would have been an easy method, her father had taught her to read the stars when she was young enough to learn their names, but a cloudy night hid all of them from view and took away her best chance at finding a direction to head off in. Beside the quaint home were two neighbors in houses that looked questionable at best, the remaining land empty and rural.

Low lying fields that mingled with the edge of a forest, no dips or peaks on the horizon to suggest development, nothing all around her.

With a shake of her head Hermione set off to put as much distance between herself and the home behind her as possible before the sun finally decided to make an appearance. That was a slightly more worrying prospect, finding herself in the middle of nowhere with the now unbearable heat of the sun bearing down on her. She needed a place to hunker down and dig out a hideaway, and the forest on the edge of her vision seemed to be the best prospect.

Hermione’s forward walk eventually found her inside of the forest that she’d spied from the home, a wall of trees growing up all around her to impede any of the Black clan from searching for her. A most curious smell began to make its presence known as she continued further and further into the dark woods, something sweet and sharp that appealed to her stomach. She knew by the hunger that it was blood, likely human, and she threw herself in the opposite direction of the luxurious smell. 

Unfortunately her stomach eventually convinced her otherwise. Through brambles and branches that pricked her skin and tore her dress, Hermione slowly began heading towards the dregs that she could still smell in the air, passing copses of trees that looked all too familiar as she traveled. She turned sharply off course when the wind shifted to send the scent at her from another direction, heels dropping unceremoniously to the ground as she sought out better footing.

Eventually she found the source. There, in the middle of a depression in the land, was a small clearing of trees and brush that had been beaten down into servicing as a campsite for some unlucky hiker. An old woman was sitting dead center with a fire at her feet and a pan sizzling off to the side, a blue canvas tent to her back all zipped up and dark. The meat below smelled amazing to Hermione’s enhanced senses, but as she approached her mind locked onto a much sweeter smell.


	12. Something Had To Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is tired  
> Narcissa is amused  
> Bellatrix is incensed  
> Hermione is... Enjoying herself? Finally?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chap, No Beta, No Edit. There are so many commas in this trainwreck of a chapter.

She struck with a flash of fangs and a feral hiss, her body lunging forward to sink fangs into-

Well.

She never did get quite that far.

A frying pan, lovingly nicknamed Ol’ Reliable, (on account of it having lasted through three generations of family members) smashed into the side of Hermione’s head with all the grace of a Beater knocking back a bludger.

Things went dark after that.

\---

When they finally brightened back up, Hermione was in a car somewhere on a road, somewhere in a place she didn’t recognize. And tied up.

_ ‘Lovely.’ _

“Um…”

“Oh!” The sound of a cheery voice from the front seat rang out through the small vehicle, an elderly woman looking into the rear-view to catch sight of Hermione’s now restored face. “Bout time you came around. Not every day that a vampire gets a knocking from iron, but I suppose it won’t be the last either.”

“...What?”

Hermione’s brain was befuddled, cottony, warm and wrapped up in the vestiges of memory that spoke of hunger and then sudden flaring pain. 

“Well dearie, you tried to get a nip and I’m sorry to say that I had to protect myself. If it makes you feel any better, the pan I used is no longer serviceable. Your skull sure did a number on it in return.”

“O-okay? Who are you? And why am I in a car?” Hermione tested the strength of the rope she found tied around her body, her legs strung up together and arms twisting unnaturally to press forearm to forearm against her front.

“Well, can’t just let a fledgling vampire run about in the woods all alone. You came up on my camp, guess you got turned somewhere near here? First cravings?”

“No, not first… Where are you taking me exactly?” She tested the bonds again, the narrow rope giving slightly as she worked her muscles back and forth, “And why am I trussed up?”

“Well I couldn’t just let you go about making a ruckus like that, ‘specially not with other families nearby. I’m taking you back to my farm, figure I’ll get Paw to ring someone down from the Ministry or Hogwarts, they’ll know what to do with ya’.”

“Um, no, please you can’t-”

“Look dearie,” the woman smiled in the mirror, her permed white hair forming an oddly disquieting halo around her too white skin, “I can’t just let you be, you attacked me and there are things that need to be taken care of now.”

“Okay, for one thing, how do you even know I was going to attack you,” Hermione put on her bravest and most sincere looking face, drawing upon all those hours of play-acting during her early years of schooling, “And the Ministry? I’m a vampire! They’d rather just kill me on sight, same with Hogwarts!”

“You did attack-”

“You don’t know-”

“-me and tried to drain-”

“-that I intended that I could have been-”

“-and it doesn’t matter because-”

“-what the fuck are these ropes even-”

“-language dearie, my word you youths are just-”

“-uage!? You’re really-”   
  


_ CRACK! _

The window to the car split into a spiderweb of loose glass and plastic film, the woman immediately losing control of the vehicle until she’d practically driven them up and through a ditch, the entire cab bouncing all the while with Hermione struggling again and again to break the bonds holding onto her.

When the vehicle finally came to a halt the door on her right was pulled open with such force that the entire thing crumpled away, black curls and angry eyes peering in on her as she was dragged out by a hand stuck underneath her shoulder.

“Avada Kedavra!” The green bolt of magicked lightning smashed into the woman’s side, her body crumpling forward uselessly onto the horn, the blare ringing out horrendously into the near morning light. Across the treetops that Hermione could now see, the first vestiges of dawn were beginning to make themselves known with pink and orange, purple and blue.

The sun was coming.

“Hold on Pet, we’ll talk about this later,” Bellatrix,  _ ‘Gods-dammit!’, _ apparated her away with so much swiftness that she almost lost her lunch.

Whatever was left of it anyways.

\---

“The  _ fuck _ does she think she’s doing,” Sirius’s voice bled through the breaking dawn to reach Narcissa’s tired ears. She’d been listening to him complain all night long, ever since they’d set out in search of the wayward fledgling. First it was their loyalties, then their support of a madman who’d probably kill her niece, then it was this, from there it was that.

Over. 

And over.

“Who knows, Siri,” Narcissa growled out before sending a silent stunner into his back.

He’d been immensely helpful during the beginning of their search, his altered nose sniffing out the trail for them almost as if he had a drawn line to follow, but now it was time for him to nap.

“So this is goodbye then?” Andromeda stepped up beside her, Nymphadora standing off to the side with a queer look in her eye, “Help you get her back and in repayment you both just sod off?”

“Well it’s best for everyone, don’t you think Dromeda? We confirmed dear Nymph-”

“Don’t call me that-”

“-adora is alright, we’ve retrieved our little charge, and your home is set to rights. Or should be, that Imperius should still be lingering in Remus for a few more hours at least.”

“Well then I can’t say it’s been a pleasure. Now fuck off.”

“Of course Drommie,” Narcissa leaned over and hugged her older sibling tightly, “Don’t fret about stopping by, I’m sure the Dark Lord could use someone like you,” she turned to eye Nymphadora, “Or your daughter. Till next time!”

With a cheeky wave and a smile filled with her fangs, Narcissa apparated away.

\---

With a bang that rattled the walls Hermione was thrown up against the wooden door frame to Bellatrix’s room. The fear she’d felt at first arriving back to Hotel Insanity was rapidly fleeing in the face of Bellatrix’s anger, instead being eaten up and replaced with anger and a hunger all her own.

“The hell is wrong with you,” Bellatrix ground out between clenched teeth, “You could have died! You could have burned up, you could have been caught, did anything like that pass through your thick skull!?”

“I made the best choice I had at the time!”

“To attack someone in the open!? In a clearing in the woods, from upwind? Are you fucking daft?!”

She threw Hermione forward into the wood again, all bared teeth and pushing anger.

“I told you, I did what I thought was best! Also,  _ Fuck you!” _

Hermione pushed herself off the door with a little help from a burst of wandless magic, her rage fueling the mishmash spell until she’d pushed Bellatrix away from her. She was rapidly losing what little control she still had over her body, stomach striking out in pain against the slight of a meal stolen, her blood absolutely rushing through her body and roaring in her ears as she fought back against the woman.

“Well fuck you!” Bellatrix, dropping her last bits of calm energy, shot forward to press the Hermione back against the wood with a hand tangled in her hair and sharp nails scratching out along her side, only held back from digging deeply into flesh by Hermione’s grasp on her arm.

They stood there locked into position, both with fangs down fully and blood in their eyes, pushing and pulling in an attempt to overpower and overcome the other. It should have been simple, Bellatrix would come to realize that in retrospect, but it wasn’t.

The younger vampire was just about holding her own for some reason or another, pushing back as much as she took and teeth gnashing in the air as she attempted to pierce the warm throat in front of her.

Eventually, like all instances of an immovable object against an unbearable force, they caved.

Hermione pulled instead of pushed, allowing Bellatrix to dig her nails into her side and pulling the short woman close enough to sink her fangs down into flesh, Bellatrix imitating the movement and digging her own into the curve of Hermione’s shoulder.

It was a bright spot of pain, her side and her neck, but it was quickly overcome by the wash of fluid coating her tongue as it slid down her throat. She took great heaping swallows of the liquid and slowly her body’s rhythms changed, as did Bellatrix’s.

Soon it wasn’t a push or pull away or towards, it was up and down, skin to skin, a ruined pair of dress robes against a ruined dress, hands skating across flesh to rip at fabric and pull hair as they slowly dropped down onto the ground. Hermione wasn’t sure what gave first, her resolve or Bellatrix’s, but eventually they were laying amidst shredded clothing and great puddles of blood, hair sticky and wet with the fluid as it dried all around them. They’d released their death grip on the others body, teeth and tongue dashing out to puncture and lick in equal measure.

Hermione could feel the warmth flooding back into her body, that heady height that Bellatrix had her shooting towards while they were sitting in the Tonks household. Bellatrix could feel the same, her body responding to the change in desire, from pain to pleasure at the drop of a hat.

Hermione straddled the strong form of Bellatrix’s thigh, her legs spreading as she fought to grind herself down and onto the woman, hands free to pinch and scratch at pale skin, where it wasn’t marred by the bloody detritus of their actions. Bellatrix in turn obliged, slotting Hermione’s thigh between her own until they were riding each other with equal fervor, bites still shocking them as they bit and tore.

\---

Narcissa, standing in a corner now that she’d apparated back to her home, was watching the goings-on with thinly veiled amusement, her eyes shining in the half-light from the sconces on the wall and fangs descended so she could trap her lip and bite down into skin.

_ ‘Well, this is an interesting turn of events.’ _


	13. Out of the Frying Pan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is enthralled.  
> Bellatrix is enjoying herself.  
> Narcissa is hidden.
> 
> Voldemort is... amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't dead, yet.
> 
> Bare-bones edited, take it or leave it.

Two fangs that had once gleamed white were now standing naked in the air, the owner dashing forward until they were painted with a sheen of blood that gleamed iridescent under the light from the sconces and fireplace against the wall. Hermione was mindless as she drove in further, pushed herself harder, every bit of her newfound strength being put into the domination of the _creature_ below her body.

A _Creature,_ because if she thought of her as just a woman, then she would be lying to herself.

A _Creature,_ because if Hermione allowed herself to think of the woman as her sire, she would be repulsed.

A _Creature,_ because if she thought of the woman as a lover, then it would be too intimate.

Bellatrix was a _creature,_ just like she now was.

Bellatrix was a _creature,_ all predation and danger, instinct and desire.

Bellatrix was a _creature,_ and still she was the only thing that mattered.

Hermione wasn’t quite sure when their little dance turned itself from a show of dominance to one of desire, wasn’t quite able to parse out all the little specifics and delicate intricacies that changed her initial intention to drive fangs forward in an effort to _maim_ and to _hurt_ into a need to _feed,_ and bring pleasure. She wasn’t sure what egged them onwards and then off of this precipice.

This cliff.

The unnatural pull that Bellatrix held over her very soul was now working against them both, it had been ever since Hermione had first driven herself to bite in a fit of anger, but had been brewing even longer since she had sat atop Bellatrix’s lap with the older womans fangs buried into the meat of her neck, and heat rapidly increasing into a whine of need and want.

Bellatrix Lestrange; now Bellatrix Black, the woman she would call a sire, a Mistress, the one who held a leash upon her neck built from arcane blood and a feverish mastery of power.

Hermione could feel the _Other_ within the room, her presence clear as day even if she couldn’t directly see her, the Monster lurking in the shadows to give them both the illusion of privacy. The Blonde was on the lookout, ever present, worried and intrigued in all the ways that shot heat down all their spines with knowledge that they were _together,_ even if apart.

An interloper, but not one unwanted.

But not interesting enough. What _was_ interesting Hermione at that moment was her continued ministrations, Bellatrix’s hands mirroring her own in certain wavelengths, strong fingers and a heavy palm walking its way down her front, over her chest, alongside hips to tug and pull apart the pretty blue outfit that she had worn all day long, attacking it with fervent need until she was clad in nothing but shredded tatters and slowly drying blood. Hermione dove in to capture a lip between her fangs, a swift tongue dashing outwards to swipe away and sap blood from her kiss, her own ears too deafened by the rush of blood to hear if Bellatrix cared for that move or not.

She froze, for a moment. A heartbeat.

How archaic.

With little thought she brushed aside the oddity of it all, brushed away the worry and the fear to be subsumed within the cloying heat of the Vampiress before her, the pull and tug of magic, _true_ magic, latching onto her soul. Their bond, Bellatrix’s claws, the woman seeming to sense her turbulent emotions, digging rivulets into her skin in an attempt to reach her blood, or maybe her soul. Soon enough she found herself dropping, grinding, pressing incessantly against two fingers that swirled around her core, a sting of pain wrenching a silent hiss from between her lips as the Blood-Witch leaned forward to drive fangs deeper into her throat than she had ever done before.

Hermione saw the moment that she exploded, too intensely wrapped up with the heat of it all, her mind pushing outwards into something far simpler that based and ran only on the pure emotion of the act, the swirling ecstasy of their connection. Soon enough her mouth found purchase as she rode the ever flowing heights, an ambrosia sliding down her throat in reward.

Hermione nearly screamed when Bellatrix, the impudent woman that she was, refused to let her down from the heights she had achieved; their duel now one serving pleasure, burning want, forcing desire higher and higher as if to say that only _she_ could do this to Hermione, that only _she_ could have fangs this long, this skillful-

She wasn’t quite sure what happened between the moments when she blacked out, but soon enough her mind returned amid a movement that pulled her off the bloodied remnants of Bellatrix’s clothes (all strips of ruined leather and prettied lace), the undergarments that the woman had worn soon enough joining their brethren on the ground. _Something_ propelled her forward then, drove her onwards until the heat was sticking and pulling, mouth against the source and tongue diving down deep within.

A gasp of delight, a heady moan, were all that she received to indicate that she had chosen right.

That she had chosen well. 

And when her tongue began to sway and dance there was nothing left for the older Vampiress to do but tangle her sharp fingers amid the curls of Hermione’s hair, a tug pulling her in, weight pushing her down, legs lifting up to wrap over her shoulders until Hermione was quite sure her head would soon pop off. It doesn’t happen (of course not), and Bellatrix may be strong but the Human body is not so weak, and a Vampire’s even harder to disassemble.

Still, she worried.

Still, she felt broken.

Full.

Elated, and horrified.

Before any emotion could gain dominance over her blood-drunk mind, a swiftly worded command and gently guiding fingers found the perfect spot for Hermione to curl up against the woman’s side, her tongue languidly pressing against still weeping wounds, a small growl of contentedness flowing up from her throat. 

_‘I’m…’_

The thought never completed. Never ended, never truly began.

She wanted-

_Something._

Reassurance? Maybe. Some word of comfort as she lay there, something to tell her that this was _right._

Love? Not now, not yet at least, not with the hate and anger still swirling its way through her veins.

Closeness? Yes-

The tangible feeling of skin on skin, the scent and soft touches of the Other as she came up from behind them, wrapping and lifting them both with a spell that had them moving until they were placed down upon comforting pillows and warm cloth, the fire beside them still crackling away as if in its course it could burn away the world.

 _She_ could burn the world down, Hermione was sure of it. Her mind had been oh so very scattered, so broken these past few days, the past few hours, her life so thoroughly and utterly changed that she had no moments to fight back, or act against it. All her moments had been spent with thoughts of escape or incredulity, of safety and the unjustness of her situation.

She was safe now. Safe, and secure, deeply nestled within the naked embrace of a Vampire. Her enemy, slowly moving soft fingers in circular patterns against her shoulder, stomachs heavy and full of a liquid not easily forgotten.

Hermione slept. And dreamed.

And when she awoke, the world had changed.

\---

Or at least her setting had certainly changed.

The last bits of memory that she could dredge up were all drifting amid the bloodlust, a few fragments of Bellatrix’s warm heat, the soothing pulse of the fire, her feelings of comfort and contentment that had eluded her before.

And she _had_ been nude.

Dark eyes opened up at that realization, fingers flowing down her body as waking brought with it a silken robe so thin it almost wasn’t there, so gray that she might as well have been wearing nothing at all.

She was in a bed, so there was that at least, but it wasn’t Bellatrix’s. 

And she was alone.

_Again._

Hermione rumbled displeasure from her throat, her body aching all over, a shiver running through her despite the inner heat that seemed to swell in time with her heartbeat. It rose and rose as she sat there, slowly threatening to pull her apart, and only her heightened reflexes and speed managed to carry her off to the en suite, her stomach rapidly deciding it had been subjected to enough misuse.

Torrents of thick bile the color of blood began to pour past her lips in choking gasps and muffled screams of pain. Unusual, or not, depending on whether it was _normal_ for one Vampire to feed so heavily and freely from another. Hermione sat back on her haunches to wipe her mouth, relaxing for one second before the distasteful event repeated itself yet again.

It took her nearly thirty minutes to make her way out of the bathroom, and when she did it was with a full body shiver and sniffles tainting the air, every bit of her musculature screaming out against the movements as she did so. She gave up immediately on searching for new clothes, deciding instead to find her mysterious (and currently hidden) benefactors. She wandered the halls outside her door, followed along the faint traces of the witch’s with her nose, and soon enough she found herself standing in the kitchen.

But still there was no one to be found.

 _‘To Hell with all this,’_ she thought, her fingers snapping as she fumed. _‘If they won’t find me, I’ll find them.’_

A House Elf popped into existence at her side, a mangy little thing all wrapped up within the remnants of a kitchen towel that stretched across its too oblong head, a sight that could be labeled as nothing more than hideous, bordering on repulsive. While normally she would have been more careful in her words or actions, or ignored their help entirely out of some form of pity, she instead barked out, “Take me to Bellatrix.”

She shouldn’t have done that.

Should have waited instead, should have asked it where the woman was, should have waited on an answer.

But she had been impatient. Tired. Still sick, and still wondering just _why_ she had been left all alone.

The Elf grabbed at her pointer finger, held on limply, and took off.

\---

When Hermione landed it was with an uncomfortable drop down to her knees, her throat open and bile threatening to spill down her front. 

There had been no moment of warning, no safe or secure hold, just the tiny grasp of a tiny Elf, and then the absolutely horrid experience of Apparition. She hadn’t counted on the magnitude of it all, secure as she was the Portkey had been the worst thing to happen to her so far.

Lessons for next time, if there was one after this.

“What do we have here?”

Well then.

There probably wasn’t a next time for her after all.

The voice that spoke up into the silence surrounding her was thin and quiet, much more a whisper than a proper tone, much more of a hiss than actual words. What was worse still was the recognition she felt, the immediate pit of ice that her stomach dropped into, the shake and abhorrent shiver that infested each of her limbs.

_Him._

**_Him._ **

_The Dark Lord-_

Her body was still aching from the Apparition, limbs still burning from her sickness, but still she forced herself to raise her head and meet his Red gaze just as a smile broke out upon his horridly thin lips. She pushed herself up, pushed back, her body straining against itself as she fought to reach a standing position-

 _“Kneel,_ Pet.”

Hermione felt herself still unnaturally, one leg dropping down as her robe fell open across her front, hands desperately reaching out to save herself some semblance of decency. Bellatrix’s voice had come from her left, and with only the slightest hint of trepidation, Hermione glanced-

A meeting.

_She’d been Apparated directly into a bloody fucking meeting!_

A long table was placed off to her side, the full length holding twelve seats, twelve bodies, each of them rigid yet still amused as she remained there quiet and unmoving. Bellatrix’s gaze roved over her with a physical push of pressure and amusement, Severus’s gaze simply perplexed more than anything, and Lucius’s more openly enjoying the spectacle before him, his blue eyes alight with joviality. 

And then there was Voldemort himself, the Serpent staring at her from his seat at the head of the table, a mirthful smile across his face and chin held crookedly in the palm of his hand, elbow resting straight upon the table.

“So you’re the Vampiress I’ve been hearing oh so very much about, the one our dear Bellatrix is being so kind as to rear up. It’s nice to finally meet you, Girl. I am the Dark Lord Voldemort, and you little one,” his eyes narrowed as he pinned her place with the gaze, _“You_ are intruding.”

_‘I’m so bloody fucked.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, it's me, back on my bullshit with these crazy vamps


	14. Chew Your Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is frightened.  
> Voldemort is amused.
> 
> Narcissa is just enjoying all the blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi.  
> Trash-Vamps ride again
> 
> Un-edited

_ ‘Oh, Gods. I’m so bloody fucked.’ _

Hermione knew it was an absolute and ridiculous understatement. An exceedingly lackadaisical method of summing all the fuckery up.

Bitten and drained by a Vampiress, cooped up and then nearly turned to itty bitty pieces by the side she had always planned on supporting, quite nearly murdered by a deranged old hag (which, to be fair, she had picked the fight with,) and then flung forward into a deviously sexual and raw relationship with the much older Vampiress that had brought her into this situation. It made no sense.

And now, to top it all off, she had managed to interrupt a meeting being held by the Dark Wizard who was the true cause of all of this.  _ Kneeling before him, _ as if that made this any better.

Voldemort, Bellatrix’s master, the true reason that the older vampire had ended up starving along in Azkaban for who knew how long. The reason she had been craving blood the moment she had gotten out, and for some reason had found Hermione.

And yet ultimately he was the reason that she was still breathing, in a sense. Without his order that she be saved, trained up in her new abilities and put forth as some show to a clan she had never even known existed, she could still draw air. Or drink blood. Or whatever ridiculous assertation would describe how instead of being ashes she was yet flesh and blood.

She still wasn’t quite entirely certain what the mechanics of her un-death were, but she was  _ fairly _ certain the term-

“Girl? Did Bellatrix manage to suck out all your brains alone with your blood? Or perhaps you were like this all along. Maybe she best pick someone else to represent.”

_ ‘Ah. Fuck.’ _

Hermione felt her pupils blow out, mouth dropping open as she stared unabashedly at the dark majesty that was Voldemort. The muscles of her throat were attempting to work, to stutter and make sound, do  _ something. _

Nothing came.

Nothing except the barest strangle of a gasp that was at once made of fear and relief. He hadn’t destroyed her the moment she arrived, perhaps there was a chance she would live through this yet. The thought buoyed her even as she stared at his regal form, flowing robes of black silk and poisonous red eyes that dripped malice, bled hate, yet held some faint amusement to their shimmer.

“Well, it certainly is nice to know that I can still shock someone into solid stupidity. That being said, I do believe I’ve asked you a question.” Voldemort’s gaze deepened, and for a second Hermione was reminded of Kaa. “Now, may I please have an answer, Miss…?”

_ ‘Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck.’ _

“Um, I’m Hermione. Hermione Granger.”

The old wizard stood, body lurching forward with all the strength and poise of a geriatric on a mission while behind him a thick man who stood behind the vacated chair began nodding his head side to side, eyes wide and imploring. Not that Hermione knew what he was trying to get across.

She wasn’t exactly well versed in the art of Henchman Body Language.

“Hmm,” Voldemort hummed to himself, sibilant and strong and so much more amused than his tone from just a moment earlier. With a flash of speed, his wand was drawn from beneath the flowing silk to point at her throat and body while hanging eerily still.

The spell, for that was what it must have been, silent or no, latched onto her torso and dragged her to her feet. The move was harsh and compressing, the coils of a snake latching onto her body and leaving her to hang above the ground with muscles screaming out in protest. It pulled her, tugged her, flexed atop her body until she could do nothing more but struggle vainly and peer deeper into his reddened eyes.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance Miss Granger, I’ve heard quite so much about you. But, and let this lesson be well learned, I would prefer it if you would address me with respect when you answer a question or anything else of the sort. Sir, My Lord, Master, et cetera. Understand?”

He smiled when the words finally fell from his mouth, flashed his teeth and bared fangs to match the persona. They were thinner than her own but just as terrifying as a cobra, pointed and dripping yellowed venom upon his bottom lip. She capitulated right then and there without any further movement or bravery. Gryffindor or no, there was just nothing else to do when confronted with someone who was so clearly inhuman and obviously far superior to her in darkness and disaster.

“O-oh, of course,” she stammered out, the words sour on her lips. “My apologies, my Lord.” She nodded as she spoke, up and down as fast as she could while curls and clumps of hair whipped back and forth, hoping that she looked just as contrite and frightened as she felt.

She hoped he got the message, even as she stared back into those predatory eyes that revealed no true hint of the mind within.

“Good! Now, get out.”

\---

Hermione couldn’t quite be sure but if she had to wager a guess, she fled from that chamber faster than she had ever run before. Unfortunately, that fire led her from one danger to another.

Voldemort released her from the grip of his magic with nothing more than a twist of his wrist, set her to fall down upon two legs that shook and trembled even while he turned away and back towards those rightfully attending the meeting. Hermione was never one to linger where unwanted, and with a shock of energy she sprinted from the room. 

She had pushed her luck as far as she was willing, and it took monumental effort to still herself outside the chamber to allow the door to close with only the barest of clicks.

She  _ wanted _ to slam it, but she wasn’t one to push her luck. Would he even care if she made a racket upon her exit? She wasn’t sure.

Best be safe instead.

Once the door was safely shut she took off at a breakneck pace through the twisting halls in search of someone or something that could still her racing heart. Around and down, up stairways and through bare entryways, she wandered back and forth until something caught her nose.

She followed the enticing scent for a few minutes until finding herself a small room with a fire in one corner and the cause of her slowly budding desire in another.

Narcissa, looking rather relaxed, and by and large the obvious source of her interest.

“What do you need, little vampire?” The blonde matriarch spoke to Hermione from her position atop a magnificently presented sofa, a book in her hands and a cup of what smelled to be blood upon the end table beside her. Her eyes remained lost in pages while she spoke, and even after her words faded the vampire appeared to take no further interest in the fledgeling at her door.

Hermione wavered on her feet, weighing options and desire atop golden scales in her mind. Should she complain about her day to Narcissa? Ask the woman for some help, or do nothing at all? Should she leave, back away and pretend she hadn’t even entered?

No easy answer met her mind, not that she was really expecting any. Since the very moment she had been stolen away everything had occurred without her truly giving input. It was a breakneck pace that had left her swirling down from one emotion to the next, and in this instance her plight was no different. The pungent smell of blood alongside the delicious scent of Narcissa were both calling to her more than she wanted to admit, and it was with a heavy heart she pushed aside all thought of leaving.

Bellatrix was one thing, a beast of power and force of raw nature that seemed to be tempered only by the fact that Hermione could sense part of that in herself, supplanted and implanted by that fateful night out in her Grandfather’s fields. Bellatrix had created Hermione in this form, and she could not deny an attraction to her that felt built more on that connection than anything else.

But Narcissa? This vampire was something else entirely. She was golden beauty, tempered power, seduction and something more that left a hint of spice upon the air. 

Narcissa made her question everything, want  _ everything, _ in ways that complimented Bellatrix’s contribution to her undead soul.

So she sat down beside her, prim and proper and shivering all the while. Narcissa remained silent, and Hermione followed suit.

A minute of silence passed them by before Narcissa shut her book with a resounding  _ ‘Smack!’ _ , leaning over to whisper against Hermione’s ear, “Dearest, what’s wrong?”

_ ‘Bloody everything,’ _ Hermione thought to herself, mind roiling for a good response.

“Everything,” she settled on, believing honesty to be the best policy. “I interrupted Volde-”

A hand rushed up with inhuman quickness to cover itself against Hermione’s lips, cold and dry and carrying with it just the slightest hint of pomegranate.

“Do not say his name, little vampire. It’s exceedingly disrespectful.  _ Our Lord, _ should suffice.” Narcissa held her hand there but a moment longer before slowly drawing away, a finger crossing Hermione’s lips as she left and a keening noise drawn forth from her throat by the sensual movement.

“Yes, but he’s not my-”

The hand was back, shutting away all words and leaving Hermione in the graceless position of having her tongue against the flat of Narcissa’s palm.

Not that the woman made any motion saying that she minded the slickness.

“He is dear,” Narcissa’s voice turned low against her ear. “He’s your Master, and mine, and all of ours. He’s the only one that’s keeping the Order from killing us all, parcelling us out in bits and pieces. The only one keeping you from becoming a pile of broken skin and bones. You know that, we know that, and soon enough the Clan will know that. Speaking of the Clan, do you happen to know where my sister is hiding? She was supposed to go over all your tasks for the day.”

Hermione swallowed back the moan drifting from her throat when Narcissa removed her hand again to swipe a nail much harsher than before against her lips and chin.

“I don’t know where she is. She was gone when I woke up, that’s why I was wandering around.”

“Ah,” Narcissa nodded, clearly understanding of her sister’s disappearing acts. “Well, I guess I can show you some things then. Might get something out of it myself as well. Now, bite down dear.”

Hermione scrunched up her face in confusion, “What?”

Narcissa moved faster than Hermione could talk, her hand turned to the side and pale skin brought before Hermione’s lips. The wrist hung limply against her, blue eyes searching brown and free hand digging fingers into Hermione’s mass of curls. 

Hermione stared, twitched and slowed, felt the intense beat of Narcissa’s pulse through the thin skin of her bottom lip. The air between them was sweet and heavy, a scent that rushed throughout her mind and set something within her aflame. She felt it would have been apt to describe their current situation as ludicrous, her sitting there in confusion and restrained desire even after already having tasted so much of the older woman.

Restraint lost out. Hermione dove into that proffered arm, her mouth clamping down upon the dainty wrist as she cradled fingers and an elbow to keep it still. She bit through without any thought or plan besides the loosening of her instincts, the vacating of all confusion.

Teeth punctured swiftly, blood welled up into her mouth, and her throat began to bop as she swallowed down the crimson liquid.

Narcissa had a particular taste that Hermione would happily term as delicious. She preferred Bellatrix’s hint of spice but loved this all the same. Hated it too, but that reluctant portion of her mind was growing smaller with every minute, and all the oddities thrust before her were well equipped to keep her evolving towards a new outlook.

Best she simply play at being a fish and swim along with this tumultuous current. Following along this way would certainly give her a better chance at remaining whole and healthy, and keep her from being battered up and down the hallways whenever Bellatrix found herself in a sour mood.

“Good girl,” Narcissa cooed, a hand petting down curls while Hermione fell to mindless feeding. “Once you’ve finished we’ll start some training. See if you can kill on your own.”

That made sense. Grab a bite to eat, then grab-

Hermione sputtered, coughed and felt blood dribble against her lips as she pulled back and peered into Narcissa’s unreadable gaze.

“Say what?”


End file.
